


Solace of Silence

by Shadow_Chaser



Series: BBC Robin Hood Alternate Season 2 [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Altair ibn la-Ahad, BAMF Crusader!Robin, Carter is even cooler, Don't mess with the Hashashin, Epic Bromance, Everyone wants to protect Robin but he's oblivious to it, Gen, Heterosexual Life Partners, Other, Pieces of Eden, Pieces of Eden shenanigans, Robin's past finally explored, alternate season 2, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-01
Updated: 2010-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 102,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after "The Assassin's Gift" - The Crusades are endless and peace is rarely in sight. Hope can kill and trust is fleeting. Who to trust in a land of hostiles? Crossover with Assassin's Creed featuring Altaїr -Pre-Season 1, Alternate Universe-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1: Investigation

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Author’s Notes:**

            Based off of my one-shot _Silence_ which is set 1 year before Robin returns to England from the Crusades, I’ve decided to somewhat expand that one-shot into a full-fledged story.  This story will crossover with the game _Assassin’s Creed_ in terms of what happened to the nine men Altair was sent to assassinate.  Words in foreign languages (Arabic, French, and German) will be italicized throughout this story.  **No experience with _Assassin’s Creed_ is required to read and enjoy this fanfic.**

 

**Historical Note:**

I graduated college with a minor in History and have a pretty good knowledge of the Crusades along with European, American, and Asiatic history.  For this story I have done extensive research to mirror what happens in the historical accounts of the Third Crusade and blending it with _Assassin’s Creed’s_ slightly twisted version of history while keeping it in context with _Robin Hood_.  I will make notes along the way and add footnotes to the end of each part if something in what I write has changed from historical accounts and so forth.

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

 

**Religious Disclaimer:**

            I am by no means insulting of any of the religions in this story, whether it is Christian, Muslim, or even Jewish.  Since this is dealing with the Third Crusades, both sides of Christianity and Muslim forces will be battered around.  This is only a character study folks, not a religious platform.  Like the disclaimer in _AC_ said, it is a game created by people of all faith and beliefs.  I wish I could say this story was created by a bunch of people of all faiths and beliefs, but alas, it is only one person writing this, me and one person beta-ing it, my beta Algae09.

 

**Story:**

 

**_ Timeframe – July, 1191 _ **

 

_Part 1 – Investigation_

 

**ACRE** **,** **HOLY** **LANDS**

 

The spurt of blood sprayed into a messy mist across his cheek, but he didn’t really acknowledge it as he blindly wiped it away with a gloved hand before ripping out his blade and immediately stabbed it into the next soldier that charged at him.  The Saracen choked slightly as his bloodied blade tore through him and he stared grimly at the particular soldier’s face before pulling the blade out, coated with the fresh shine of the soldier’s blood.  The Saracen fell back onto the dusty ground and choked once before stilling in deathly silence.

Robin of Locksley shook his sword to try to get the blood off of it and was a bit dismayed that only a couple of droplets fell to the ground.  Cleaning the blade would be hell tonight he mused silently to himself as he glanced up at the battlefield of carnage.  His brown hair was sweat slicked and half covered in blood, none of it his thankfully, but the stench of it permeated through his nose.  He did not gag though, having already used to the smell of blood and dead bodies long ago.

As his eyes scanned the battlefield of the city known as Acre, he could see his remaining men finishing off the Saracen forces of Salah al-Din that had tried to stop them from invading the city.  It was almost over and most definitely a victory for the King and his forces.  However, he knew the cost had come at a steep price.  There would be pockets of resistance still even though the combined English and Franken forces had stormed the port city and had taken over much of it.

Many good men had died today defeating the Saracens.  He had a feeling that Salah al-Din or Saladin as he was known to them, would not be pleased.  Yet it was the right step in the right direction to reclaiming the Holy City of Jerusalem from the barbaric forces the man commanded.  He hoped that now that they had an assured footing closer to Jerusalem, his King and allies including King Phillip would be able to push faster to the HolyCity thus ending the bloodshed.

“Master!” Much’s plaintive cry made Robin stop his scan of the area and instead stared at his manservant who was running towards him, a bit battered, but otherwise healthy looking.

Robin could feel the tug of a relieved smile pushing the corner of his lips, but instead nodded at greeting to him.

“You’re alive,” Much however, couldn’t contain his enthusiasm and fussed over him, “anything broken, Master?  Here, let me take your sword-“

“Much,” this time Robin let the tired smile appear on his face, “stop.  I’m fine.  You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But Master-“

“Much,” Robin said in a warning tone, but kept the smile on his face so to show his faithful servant and friend that he was serious, but not too serious.

“Yes Master,” Much stopped his fussing and instead stared at his bloodied sword, “Can I at least clean your sword, Master?  It’s going to rust at this point.”

“Just a quick clean.  And have you seen Tomas?”

“Over there,” Much took his bloodied sword and quickly wiped as much of the blood from it as he could before handing it back to him.  Robin sheathed the sword and glanced over to where Much was pointing.  His faithful second-in-command was wiping the grime and blood off of his own sword before sheathing it and looking around.

Robin raised his hand, catching Tomas’ attention and the jogged over to them, straightening his helm that had fallen over one of his eyes.  His dark brown hair was matted against parts of his face and back down the nape of his neck.  His armor and chain mail were bloodied and dirty from the fighting they were doing to take the port city, but otherwise, Tomas looked unharmed.  “Sir,” Tomas greeted.  His voice was forever youthful, but Robin knew the man was at least ten years older than he was.

“How many?” he asked quietly as he absently handed Much a waterskin bag and his manservant left his side to help the other men who were left alive on this bloodied battlefield.

“The First and Second columns were wiped out and Third were almost routed if not for Carter’s rally with the Fifth.  The King himself lead the charge into the portcullis – he is fine, Robin,” Tomas held up a hand against his plated chest to stop him from even speaking and Robin closed his mouth, giving him a wiry grin.

“You know me too well, friend,” he shook his head slightly, “where is the King now?”

“I last saw him riding towards the stables by the left hand side of the walls.  I think he’s sent Alphonse and his column off to form a perimeter and search for remnant forces.”

“Alphonse?  The man doesn’t even know how to shoot straight,” Robin frowned, “take your men and join up with him.  My orders.”

“Yes sir,” Tomas nodded before grabbing the waterskin from Much’s hand as he came back and took a long gulp before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and headed off, calling to his men to gather around him and they headed into the battered and smoldering remnants of the gate to Acre.

Robin watched as the last man disappeared into fog-like cover of smoke and dust from the battlefield before turning to look at his own men that Richard had given him to command for this assault and to his dismay saw that at least half of them had been killed during the fierce and long fight.  They had been the closest to the King’s column, Robin’s position as Captain of the Private Guard had assured that, but during the midst of the battle, they had been separated and ended up fighting a small force of Saracens who were determined to re-take the gate.

He didn’t know how they had slipped past both King Phillip and Robert de Sable’s men, all whom were ruthless in their own right, but this small group of Saracens had proven to be much harder to fight than the usual rabble Salah al-Din had thrown at them.  “Corin!” he called a lanky boy over, one of their pages who had been assigned to his column.  When the battle had started in earnest he had told the boy to hide behind one of the merchant stalls and not to come out until it was safe to do so.

“Sir?” his French-tinged English made his answer almost unrecognizable.

“Tell Robert to send his troops to secure the gate.  We hunt Saracens, King’s orders,” he made sure to emphasize that it was the King’s orders to Corin, and the boy nodded, giving him a smirk before running off, the grey-red tunic and pants he wore flying behind him.  He was wearing the colors of King Richard and thus would not be harmed by either Phillip or Robert as he ran to their positions.

However, if there were any other Saracens around between the gates and the road leading out to the plains, they would see that the boy was unarmed and not even wearing armor.  Robin keep and watch on Corin’s form before the boy disappeared over a ridge and breathed a quick sigh of relief.

“Master, your bow,” Much’s voice made him turn slightly to accept his primary weapon and slung it over his right shoulder.  Even though he was competent in fighting with a sword, he never really liked using one, preferring to hit his enemies from a distance with his God-given gift of accuracy with a bow.

His accuracy was enhanced further with a Saracen recurved bow that he had stripped from an assassin who had tried to ambush his liege’s encampment just days ago.  Robin had managed to fell the man and Richard himself presented the bow to him as a reward.  Robin had immediately started practicing with it, wondering how a Saracen could shoot an arrow from the distance they had been in and nearly hit his King.

He was shocked to find out that the bow was deadly accurate, if in the hands of a marksman.  Luckily, the assassin was not a marksman from where he had stood.  So Robin switched his longbow to the recurved one.  But when they had almost been routed today, he had to abandon it for close quarters combat.  His arrow pack had stayed snug against his back and had even protected him from a couple of blows when he had been fighting.

“Was it necessary to say that it was the King’s orders Robin?” Much asked as they stepped past a couple of bodies and towards the rest of his unit who were gathering in a small group, some of the men hugging and slapping each other on the back, others saying quick prayers by the bodies of their fallen comrades.

“Yes, otherwise you know Robert.  He will not comply with anything unless it comes from the King’s own mouth,” Robin shook his head, looking sideways at his manservant.  Sometimes, he thought Much was a little bit daft at times.  Other times…well…those times he was glad to have such a good friend along.

“But…oh,” Much’s eyes lit up as he realized what Robin had done.

Technically the King did not order Robert, but Robin knew he had enough clout with the King to force an order if necessary and plus he knew his King valued his strategies on more than one occasion.  Pulling Robert de Sable and some of his men back to the gates of Acre would be beneficial should Salah al-Din launch a counter attack from the plains.  King Phillip of France’s men would be first in line to defend against the attacks and plus it would save Robert from losing too many of his men, all whom were united under the English banner.

Robert was Norman-French; no doubt about that, same as the King, but Robert was more loyal to the King than to Phillip.  He had seen and heard the whispers of Phillip and his lieutenants grumbling about Richard and his control over Normandy when they had first arrived and while the two Kings did work in harmony for the most part, Robin knew that there was a silent power struggle going on between the Kings.

And since Robert de Sable was one of the more charismatic of Richard’s generals, he wanted to make sure that Robert was closer to the King.  However, Robin still had his suspicions about de Sable, not of his loyalty to Richard, but mainly towards the dark dealings he had heard from the pages and soldiers around the camps.  His plan was to keep Robert close to Richard, but also keep him close so that Robin could keep an eye on him.

But after all of this, he would still have to tell his King what he had done or else Robert’s fury would fall upon him and therefore crush his efforts to find out what the man was really after in the Holy Lands and if he was truly loyal to Richard and their cause.  They did not need another Phillip who was teetering on the edges of disinterest towards their cause.  Besides, de Sable was Grand Master of the Knights Templar, his own elite cavalry and knight forces that were instrumental against Salah al-Din’s light cavalries.  Robin knew how much the King relied on de Sable’s support and efforts in each of the battles they fought.

“Sir, flags!” one of his men suddenly called out and Robin turned to see him pointing at the ridge where young Corin had disappeared off to and saw the banners of de Sable coming towards them.

Robin tilted his head slightly, stretching his neck and steadied himself for what was probably an irate de Sable coming to see him.  He had no doubt that the Grand Master had probably seen through his attempted ruse and wanted to talk with him face to face.  The Private Guards and Knights Templars never really got along with each other.  The only one that seemed to straddle both lines was Carter, a young Englishman whose roots were deep within one of Sable’s territories Anjou, who was also excellent horseman.

He saw his men scatter to the side as de Sable thundered through the main path to Acre, ignoring some of the shouts of a few wounded men who barely got themselves out of the way of his horses and pulled his charger to a halt right before Robin.  Robin let the corner of his lips twitch up in a slightly feral smile as he eyed the large charger whose flanks were covered in matted sweat and eyes slightly rolled back into its head.  The horse was tired, but Robin knew that it would carry its master to the ends of the Earth if need be.

“Captain Locksley,” de Sable greeted him curtly with a nod of his head.

“Grand Master de Sable,” Robin also nodded his head.  Technically, while he was only a lowly Captain, he was also the leader of the Private Guard which meant he had equal footing with any of Richard’s generals.  However, how de Sable managed to make his title sound like a peasant’s was even beyond Robin himself.  But he also was too well versed in the barbs he constantly traded with de Sable whenever they talked to let such taunts fall upon him.

“The King, he has ordered my men to guard the gates, yes?  To what reason as I am a busy man and have more pressing matters to attend to,” de Sable asked, his French-accented English heavy and almost unrecognizable to untrained ears.

“The King had ordered his Guard to help in the search for any Saracen forces left in Acre.  He believed that the Knights Templar would be beneficial as a secondary defense force,” Robin lied through his teeth, but also made his voice steady and hard as if he was relaying real orders from Richard himself.

The Grand Master snorted indignantly, “Leaving ailing Phillip on the front lines is hardly beneficial, however my King knows of my pressing matter.  I will leave Carter in charge, will that satisfy you Captain?”  Robin could see the man’s eyes staring at him calculating.  He suspected that his “orders” weren’t quite truthful, but also wasn’t willing to risk Richard’s wrath if they were true.  Instead, leaving Carter in his stead was mutually beneficial to both factions and thus would appease the two of them.

“Yes,” Robin replied shortly before he saw de Sable wave Corin forward, the young boy a bit winded looking, but otherwise brightened at seeing Robin.  However, he paused by the large warhorse and looked up at de Sable, ready to take his orders.  Robin could see fear in Corin’s eyes, but the boy held himself steady to such a great and powerful man.

“ _Carry a message to Carter and his Fifth Column.  He is to pull his forces to watch the gates and await my return_ ,” he ordered the boy in French before Corin nodded before hurrying away towards the secondary gates to deliver his orders.

“Where do you ride to?” Robin asked as de Sable wheeled his horse around, the charger whickering slightly, glad to be on the move once more.

Robert turned his head slightly, “Your curiosity will be your undoing, Captain.  Can a man not pray to God in peace?”

This time it was Robin’s turn to snort indignantly as de Sable heeled his horse in the ribs and it started off, his men following behind him, leaving a trail of dust and debris.  Robin watched as they disappeared over the ridge and shook his head.  He did not believe that Robert de Sable prayed like any pious man did.  No, he knew Robert was headed off somewhere and the clues were in his words.  The only question was, what temple, if any, around the area that they held did Robert go off to?

With Robert gone, he turned and started to pick at the arrows embedded in some of the dead Saracens, trying to see if they were salvageable.  It was dirty business, Robin knew that, but he also wanted to conserve resources.  They may have finally taken Acre and have a secured port city in order to bring in supplies, but that didn’t mean they needed to waste resources.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his men doing the same, checking for spare weapons or any useful ones off of Saracen bodies.  Their own people however, they did not touch.  That was one line Robin would not cross – grave robbing his own men.  Much stood silent next to him; his hands holding the arrows he had thought were salvageable.  His manservant knew better than to talk while he was doing his silent work.  He stepped over the body of a Saracen soldier, teeth still bared in the rictus of death and pulled an arrow embedded quite shallowly in his fallen comrades’ leg.

Flies were already buzzing around the area and he absently waved them away from his face before giving the arrow to Much and pulled another one out of the same man.  However, the shaft broke halfway and he stared at it, shaking his head.  His men were fine archers, some personally trained themselves, and he couldn’t blame the force in which their arrows had struck the enemy.

Throwing the broken shaft away, he continued to the next few bodies, collecting the arrows that he could salvage.  Both of Much’s hands were nearly full when the distant sounds of horses galloping their way made Robin turn and look towards the ruin battlements to see the flags of the Fifth Column coming towards them.

“Master…” he held up a hand to shush his manservant as he saw a familiar blond-haired man with piercing grey eyes riding up towards him, an easy, but tired grin on his face.

“Robin Locksley,” Carter greeted him, dismounting from his white charger and strolling over.

“Carter Tulane,” Robin returned the grin, gripping his outstretched hand tightly before slapping him on the shoulder.

The two of them had an odd sort of greeting with each other.  Technically Robin was usually addressed as Robin of Locksley, but Carter had decided when they had first met to shorten the ‘of’ in his title and instead give him the last name of Locksley, like one of the King’s courts of nobles instead of just a regular noble’s title.  And so Robin returned the favor, knowing that having an ally like Carter and fellow Englishman within the Knights Templar would be very useful.

“Much,” Carter looked over to Much who had a slightly sour expression on his face, “still alive?”

“No, quite dead,” Much replied sarcastically and Robin chuckled slightly.  Somehow, he never quite understood why Much did not like Carter and apparently the cavalryman had picked up on that and teased him to no end about the littlest things.  He had tried to ask his manservant about it, but Much was very tight-lipped and would not say a thing.  He thought he was jealous of his friendship with Carter, but apparently Much did not mind his friendship with any of the men within the Private Guards nor with some of the locals they had befriended as they rode to Acre.  It was only Carter that Much somehow did not like.

A thought occurred to him, was it because Carter was a Knights Templar?  Surely it couldn’t be the reason…

“Well, I’ll have to take those arrows of yours and shoot them in you to see if you are truly dead,” Carter gave him a wolfish smile before turning back to Robin, “Corin came over and told me that Robert wanted me to watch the gates?”

“I’m sending my men ahead to join Tomas in searching Acre for any remnant pockets of resistance and attending to the King,” Robin gestured with a chin towards the damaged portcullis, “if you can set up a perimeter, it would be much appreciated.”

“You’re lucky that the Fifth is so good,” Carter replied a bit arrogantly, “we’ve got men to spread around.”

Robin frowned at the implied statement and saw the leader of the Fifth Cavalry hold up his hands, an apologetic smile on his face, “Sorry, old habits.  I know you meant to keep these lads alive.  But we can do it.”  He coughed awkwardly, “So, did Robert say where he was going?  Corin didn’t say.”

“Your Master,” Robin could barely keep the contempt out of his own voice, but he knew Carter did not care that his tone was borderline rude when talking about de Sable, “said he was going to pray to God.”

“More like have a woman pray to him on her knees,” one of Robin’s men muttered none too loudly and Robin glared at him, shutting him up immediately, “my apologies sir.”

Carter had a mild look on his face at the comment and Robin wondered if he had stored the insult in the back of his head to use later or even to do something with it.  He knew the man was shrewd and would have never straddled the lines between Knights Templar and friend of the Private Guard without keeping some information to himself.  It was what made him an excellent source of information too.  However, he also knew he had to be cautious around the man since he was a Knights Templar after all.

“If he rode away from here, the only known temple I know is Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem.  But how he could get into that Saracen infested city is beyond me,” Carter shrugged indifferently before turning his voice cheery again, “well, you lot better get a move on.  The big cavalry boys are here now.”

“Yeah, you and your precious steeds,” another one of the men snickered and Robin rolled his eyes at his men’s antics.  Even some in the Fifth Column who had ridden over with Carter were snickering, the banter between the two factions light in the aftermath of such a bloody battle.

“My men,” he decided to get them into a semblance of an elite military unit, “form up, ranks.  Wounded, to the medical tents, not so wounded,” he gave them a slightly arched look, “help Tomas.”

Some of his men gave him wounded looks and a slight grumble filled the air, but Robin knew that it was very good-natured and his men would not hesitate to help out the second branch of the Private Guards.  They were all brothers-in-arms and thus wanted to help each other, especially if there was more hunting down of Saracens involved.  Nodding to Carter, he followed his men as they formed into three lines, the wounded in the middle line, the two outside lines protecting the wounded and started marching towards the main gates.

Robin took up to the side of the patrol formation, inspecting each and every one of his men with a critical eye.  Many of them sported minor wounds, and the grievous ones sported some stab wounds, but were otherwise mobile.  They would live, the men that survived this battle would live, he was sure of it.  A sense of pride filled him as he marched along side of them, giving a rueful smile to some of the other commanders of smaller units and soldiers who were by the broken gates staring at them as they marched past.  He had disciplined and trained his men to be the best and the elite; choosing them from the English and French men that Richard had recruited from his domains to join him on his Holy Crusade.

The Private Guard was one of the most elite archery and sword battalions ever to serve the King.  They weren’t as prestigious as the Knights Templar or other cavalry or lancer forces, but every one of his men was a sure shot and good with a sword.  They were the King’s last line of defense and his shadow protectors.  Richard always had at least a small contingent of three to four cavalry men around him, but Robin made sure that the Private Guard was also always around Richard, protecting him even though he may not have seen them.

However, when he wanted to, he made sure that people noticed the Private Guard and by having them march into the battered gates of Acre, the bleak and desolate grey-black smoking houses in the poorest and hardest hit section of the city, it ensured that everyone knew who had conquered Acre.  They were marching in like victorious soldiers who hadn’t come from a bloody battle, but looked like they had just taken a jaunt out to Church and back.

“ _And halt!_ ” Much called out behind him in French, the unofficial guide of the march for the most part and his men stopped suddenly, standing ridged in the middle of the market square after passing through the gates.  Around them the burnt, smoking, and half-destroyed buildings of homes, business, and stalls were a testament to how bitterly Acre had fought huddled some of the surviving merchants, Palestinians, and some Saracen civilians.

All of them were staring wide-eyed at the parading group and Robin noticed that many of the wounded and resting Crusaders who had just decided to take refuge in the shade of a few burnt husks of houses from the blasting heat of the summer, were also staring at them.  Some had half-smiles on their faces, while others looked a bit shocked at seeing such a grandiose display of both wounded and hale Crusaders.

“Seamus, Michael, Julian, split the men, find Tomas and continue the search.  Geoff, you and the rest of the wounded to the medical tents,” he looked at them solemnly, “well done, men.”

That was their cue to break formation and they did, the three he had pointed out chattering excitedly with the others before they headed deeper into the city, waving goodbyes to some of the other Crusaders who were resting.  He saw Geoff and the other wounded limp off to the medical tents which were pitched on the right side of the gates.  Already, a faint odor of decaying flesh was emanating from the area, but Robin couldn’t exactly tell since the smell of burnt flesh was still cloying the air from the battle.

“Much,” he gestured to his friend to follow him as they turned to their left and walked past a series of off-white tents already set up on the left side of the gates.  These were the generals’ tents and Robin knew that they had been erected in a hasty fashion since the King took the city.

His own tent would have already been set up next to the King’s tent and he found his right next to a lavish and large tent pitched further into the side of the city.  A rather large mound of debris from the ballistas and trebuchets that had knocked rocks into the buildings was piled up on one side of the tent, a sure way of protecting the King from any enterprising assassination attempt from the roofs, but also provided him some shade from the hot sun that his tent couldn’t provide.

Robin saw the King’s own physician, Jacques walking out of the entrance, the flap closing behind him before he headed off towards the direction of the medical tents on the opposite side of the broken gate.  He knew that was a good sign that his King was in his own tent, perhaps still resting and recovering from the illness that had been plaguing him and King Phillip for the past week and half.

He knew his King was more ill than Phillip himself, but he had pulled his strength together and lead the charge and assault on Acre.  It was a testament to how strong Richard was and Robin had been in awe of his King’s awesome might in pushing away his fatigue and sickness in order to personally lead his troops.  It was also why he considered Richard a better king than the French’s Phillip who had decided to stay in the back lines and instead let his generals do all of the work.

Taking one more glance at his King’s tent, he ducked into his own and immediately shucked off his gloves, handing them to Much who placed them on a large table before helping him out of his armor.  They worked in silence, Robin undoing the straps, belts, and buckles that held his armor together, Much taking away the pieces and putting them on the table to be cleaned of their blood and filth from the day’s battle.

They worked in quick silence, save for the clanging of metal on metal and the shouts of the other men around the camp, and Robin finally removed the chain mail shirt, slipping it over his head and tossing it unceremoniously onto the table.  He didn’t bother removing his chain mail pants, knowing that they were pretty useful in preventing scrapes and cuts, especially in such rubble before they had a chance to clean it up.

“Here,” Much handed him a clean shirt and he put it on, feeling somewhat clean, but he really wanted a bath of sorts to wash the grime off of his arms and body.  Jumping into Acre’s port waters was not an option due to the salt content and jumping into any of the nearby oasis was definitely not an option due to the dead bodies littered everywhere.

“Thank you,” Robin replied as Much silently handed him a small bowl of clean water from their stores and he splashed his face, before grabbing a small towel hanging from a chair and scrubbing his face as best as he could with it.  He glanced at the cloth and grimaced a bit as he saw that it was nearly black with soot, dust, and blood from his battle.  If his face and hair looked like that, it was a wonder that his own men could recognize him in his armor.

Sighing quietly, he draped the cloth back over the back of the chair and took a slightly cleaner version of the tunic with the crest of King Richard and put it on.  It offered little protection, but the freedom of movement, perfect for his role as the King’s protector when there wasn’t a huge battle to be fought.  There was an optional hood that he knew many of his men in the Guard sometimes wore, but Robin disliked wearing it and did not do so.  He liked having the ability to have full range of vision instead of impeding it with an archer’s hood.

He knew some of his men disagreed with his opinion about the hood, finding that without the side view distractions and the slight darkness the hood provided it helped them zero in on their targets.  To Robin, he wanted to be able to see everything, including potential enemies that may attack him from the side.  Plus he had the gift of being able to shoot any target he wanted to from 100 meters and hit it dead on.

He glanced down at his arrow pack and holstered his recurved bow across its proper place on his pack.  He had designed a small hook to secure his bow on his pack instead of slinging it across his shoulder, but it wasn't designed to be use in the heat of battle.  Shouldering his arrow pack again, he grabbed his sword belt and buckled it on before straightening his tunic.

“Clean your face before you use the water to clean the armors, all right?” he turned to Much and saw a spark of gratefulness on his face at his generosity.  He knew that his relationship with Much was much different than many of the other nobles who had manservants and squires to attend them.  After all they had been through for the past four years, he had long considered Much more than a manservant and instead saw him as a loyal friend instead.

But, however much he wished to free Much of his duties to the Locksley household, he could not do so yet.  Not while there was so much to do and they were so close to accomplishing the goal of recapturing Jerusalem for the Church.   Perhaps after they returned home...maybe Bonchurch would be a good reward to Much for his services to Locksley.  He knew it was more than what other squires or servants would get for their own services to their Lords and Masters in the Holy Land.

So he tried to treat Much more like a fellow man than a servant.  He knew many of the other lords, generals, and commanders of King Richard frowned upon his treatment of Much, but he didn't care.  His own men understood, having fought side by side with Much, and they understood his instance of generosity in the midst of their bloody and violent work.  He just did not want to lose his humanity like many had already lost in the four years they had been here.

“The King?” Much asked as he picked up a slightly dirtied cloth and placed it in the bowl of water before wringing it out and scrubbing his own face.

Robin nodded, “I will be back soon.”  With that, he ducked out of his own tent and headed next door, nodding to the two knights stationed outside of the entrance.  They nodded their own greetings back before continuing to stand at attention, not distracted by the sweat pouring down their faces in the late-afternoon heat.

He stepped in and immediately spotted his liege sitting amongst a pile of maps and parchments on a table set up along one end of the tent.  In the far corner of the tent was his palate, placed right next to where the mound of debris was thickest to prevent anyone from ambushing him.  In the middle of the tent was a large table thick with maps and small metal figures depicting troop forces of both Salah al-Din, Phillip, and his own forces.  Robin moved to the side as a young page scurried out of the tent, carrying a few documents.

“Sire,” he greeted, bowing his head as he presented himself to the King.

“Lord Locksley,” Richard did not look up from his maps and parchments, making a note with an eagle-feathered quill before looking at another parchment.

Robin clasped his hands behind him and stood at ease in front of his King, “ _Gate skirmishes have been completed.  The Fifth Column has been placed by the portcullis and other gates to watch for ambushers.  King Phillip and his forces are beyond the ridge making camp.  Captain Alphonse of_ _Maine_ _led his unit into_ _Acre_ _to root out and capture any Saracen remnants.  I have sent my_ leftenant _Tomas and the rest of my men to assist him._ ”  He recited his whole report in French, knowing that his King preferred to speak in his native tongue instead of English.  The first thing he had learned in his studies when he was younger was speaking the languages of both English and French.  His father had originally thought to perhaps offer up the Locksley family as spies within the King's court, but that idea had not come to fruition due to the elder Locksley's untimely death.

“ _And what of Grand Master de Sable?_ ” Richard asked, still not looking up from his parchment and make another mark, this time on the map.

“ _He had other issues to attend to, milord_ ,” Richard knew that he and Robert did not get along ever since he had asked King Phillip to use the Grand Master as one of his spearheads in their campaign towards Acre.  It wasn't the matter of having to work with the Frenchman, after all he knew his King barely spoke a word of English and preferred his Norman lands to English soil even though he was their king.

He never held that against Richard, though he knew amongst some of the English nobles, they were not too happy.  The peasantry populace however, was thankfully unaware of Richard's own preferences.  Even some of his own generals were unaware, and Robin intended to keep it that way.

No, he and Robert de Sable did not get along because of all the rumors that had surrounded the man since his appointment as Grand Master of the Knights Templar earlier in the year.  There were rumors and suspicions as to how someone who had only recently joined the Knights Templar had been made Grand Master when there were infinitely more qualified men who had been with the Knights Templar for a much longer period.  Plus there was something about the man that had him on edge all of the time.  A dark aura of sorts that made Robin naturally suspicious.  De Sable was too ambitious, too mysterious to warrant any less attention.

Plus there was the little matter of de Sable trying to dismiss the King's Private Guard as nothing more than frivolous, saying that his Knights Templar were the only forces who could properly protect the King.  Now that Robin had an issue with...and one that his men also had a serious issue with.  No one dismissed the King's Private Guard after preventing an  assassination attempt on him just over a year ago.

“Issues?” Richard finally looked up from his parchment, a frown on his face, his red eyebrows in a 'v' shape on his forehead.

“He said he was going to pray to God, sire,” Robin replied as neutrally as possible, “I suspect he may have gone to Solomon's Temple in Jerusalem.”

“Interesting,” Richard stroked his beard, “why do you say that, Captain?”

“Sire, we are in the process of securing Acre and clearing out pocket remnants of rebellion.  Jaffa and Arsuf are of no consequence to his Holiness the Pope and they are controlled by Saracens.  Damascus is a Saracen stronghold.  I believe, he may have gone to Jerusalem.”

“With his men?”

“No sire,” Robin shook his head, “I believe with only a small group of his loyal Knights Templar.”

Richard looked at him curiously, “ _On Phillip's orders?_ ”

“ _I do not know, sire_ ,” Robin replied honestly, “ _shall I investigate?_ ”

His King paused for a second, thinking before holding up a hand, “ _Discreetly, on your own time, Lord Locksley.  If it is on Phillip's orders then he may know of a faster way into_ _Jerusalem_ _than he is letting on._ ”

Robin nodded once, “ _As you command._ ”  He sketched a short bow before turning around and leaving the King to his work once more.  Stepping out of the tent he weighed his options.  He knew that he would need to first figure out if de Sable had gone to Jerusalem as Carter had suggested.  Perhaps he could send Corin to ask a few innocent questions.  The young boy was well-liked as an efficient page by many of the other captains, not really directly reporting to any one commander save for the King himself.

However, what Richard had said about perhaps Phillip ordering Robert may have merit.  He knew the two Kings did not really like each other, even though they were polite and deferred to each's own expertise in certain situations.  Whoever conquered Jerusalem would win the glory of the Pope in this Crusade.  If Phillip was ambitious enough to know of a different way into Jerusalem, he would undermine Richard's authority over a majority of the troops.

But, Richard had told him to investigate on his own time, which meant his King was not too concerned with Phillip trying to undermine him.  However, he was curious as to what his wayward Grand Master was doing.  He knew his King was more occupied with his own health and those of his own men.  He wanted to quickly secure Acre and move on, that was of the objective.  The underlying message was clear – if Robert de Sable wanted to get himself killed going to Jerusalem without the backup of an army then it was fine and would be God's will.

Robin's task in this was to make sure that de Sable wasn't going to Jerusalem to betray Richard's forces to Salah al-Din.  But he had to be discreet...  That task was easier said than done.  However, it wasn't impossible.  Many generals and commanders of Richard's ignored him, seeing him as one of the troops.  It was if he were to question de Sable's men and the Knights Templar directly was where he was going to find trouble.  Then there were some of the more troublesome commanders like James of Atherstone, Captain of the Second and Third Guard under the Fourth Column.

He had his suspicions that James was de Sable's own spy within Richard's camp, reporting to both Phillip and de Sable, but he couldn't prove his suspicions.  What he could prove was that the man was sadistic and loved bloodshed.  Then there was William of Montferrat.  On loan from Phillip to bolster the First Column, he was most definitely loyal to the French cause and saw Richard as an obstacle to the French regaining their lands in Normandy and kicking out whom they thought was a foreign King on their soil.

However, Robin knew that there was nothing he could do about William and so did Richard.  The man was a seasoned veteran of the Second Crusades and had also been captured during the Battle of Hattin and released by Salah al-Din a year later as a truce of sorts.  Both Phillip and Richard saw William as a valuable and knowledgeable ally.  The man came out even more dangerous, in Robin's opinion, knowledgeable or not.

However, had heard rumors about the rift between his second son, Conrad who governed Tyre, and William.  Rumor had it that the two did not see eye to eye.  Perhaps if he sent a messenger to Tyre to snoop about for information about William?  It was a thought, but not a practical one.  It would take time to get messages from Tyre and back and by then, Robert may have already made his move – whatever it was.

The only thing he knew he could do at the moment was to wait until Robert made his move, until then, he would wait.  Watching and listening to all the rumors carefully.

                                    *                      *                      *

It was at least a week later when news reached them that the Grand Master of the Knights Templar had pulled all of his troops, including Carter's Fifth Column for a skirmish somewhere north.  It was another week later when the troops returned, at least a third of the small army missing.  King Richard personally met the battered and haggard troops outside of Acre, the portcullis rebuilt and most of the debris cleared away.  However, the smell of dead and decayed bodies still lingered.  King Phillip of France had fallen ill once more and was overcome by severe dysentery.

Robin stood on one of the makeshift parapets by the gates, his bow strung and ready to fire at anyone who looked remotely suspicious.  Even though all of the Crusaders marching in were wearing the colors of the Knights Templar, he and his men wouldn't take any chances of a potential Saracen amongst them looking for the opportunity to assassinate the King.

One of their nearly 2,700 Saracen prisoners from the battle two weeks ago had proven that when Richard had visited them.  Poor Seamus had taken blade meant for Richard by only happenstance.  Robin had immediately killed the Saracen, but there was nothing they could do for Seamus.  The man lingered for two more days before finally dying in the early hours of the morning amidst a blood-red dawn.  Seamus had a proper burial and Robin had said a few kind words, but he had felt hollowed when they had buried the young man.

He had seen so many deaths, so many defeated and beaten looks on his men and even amongst their prisoners that he felt immune to them, like they were nothing to the hardened shield he had over his heart.  He had killed the Saracen assassin like it was nothing, quickly dispatching him with his short blade before anything else could happen.  There was no questioning of why the man did it, or why it had to happen.  Just kill and let it be done.

More than once in this year he had wished they would just capture Jerusalem and then let them all go home.  He missed the quiet green fields of Locksley, the gentleness of the woods and the forests of Sherwood.  He missed seeing his peasants, friends, even the familiar walls of NottinghamCastle.  But most of all he missed-

Robin immediately mentally shut himself from seeing her face.  The face of his beloved; gentle, youthful, ever smiling.  A bitter thought formed in his head...she was probably married now, some noble who had not answered the call of their King, was her husband.  Probably with at least one or two children.  Marian would not wait for him as she had promised.

He pulled himself from his thoughts as he finally saw Carter and his cavalry force riding behind him.  At least more than half looked exhausted, haggard, and did not march in a tight formation.  Carter himself was sporting a few bloody cuts on his face and looked like he was favoring his left side as he sat on his horse.  He glanced down towards his King and saw him already deep in a quiet but slightly animated discussion with de Sable, the two of them moving slowly away from the main group.

“Tomas,” he called over to his second in command who unstrung his bow and nodded, pointing out four other men before barking orders to them and they left their posts and headed towards the King.  The four of them formed a loose perimeter around the two, following the King's own personal knights back into Acre.

“Much,” he murmured quietly to his servant, standing next to him, bow out, but not drawn.  While Much was as much of a fighter as Robin was, he was also not recognized as an official Crusader since he held no lands or titles, nor was drafted to serve like some of the peasantry.  “Check on Carter, make sure he gets a physician to look at him.  I know Jordan may worry over him, but he can be easily pushed aside by Carter.”

Jordan was Carter's own manservant; a smallish mousy man who easily scared and did not really go into battle unlike Much.  He was instead usually instructed to help move the supplies from camp to camp.  Robin knew that Carter would try to push Much away, but thankfully his friend was much more stubborn than anyone gave him credit for.  He also knew that Carter, while arrogant to a fault at times, was also a self-sacrificial man, having seen his older brother, Thomas die a year ago after leading a rash assault on a village in the northern areas.

Robin had personally led the rescue mission to help the seasoned warrior, but it was too late.  The original Fifth Column had been obliterated by Salah al-Din’s forces and the village was left in ruins.  That had also been one Richard’s heaviest losses and he had de Sable commission a new Fifth Column to replace the one that had been lost and Carter was nominated to take over his brother’s command.

As a result of his brother’s violent death and his appointment to lead the new Fifth Column, Carter had developed a self-sacrificial streak, not wanting to see so many of his men die and preferred them to get treatment before he did, even though his own wounds were sometimes grievous.

“Yes Master,” Much replied before climbing down from the parapet and hurrying over to Carter’s horse and tug on the charger’s bridle before chatting with the man who was looking curiously down at him.  Next to Much standing by the horse was Jordan who had a slightly relieved expression on his face, seeing a potential ally in the simple-minded man.

Robin saw Much gesture a bit with his hands before Carter’s head turned slightly, his eyes seeking him out and he gave him a small nod as Carter found him and frowned.  He decided to keep his expression as neutral as possible and met the blond-haired man’s gaze with a simple one of his own before Carter finally turned away and allowed his charger to be lead in by both Jordan and Much towards the makeshift hospital tents within Acre.

“Men, form up,” he projected his voice to the rest of the Private Guard and they acknowledged by climbing down from whatever structure they had decided to use as their perches or secured location point, and forming up next to the remaining bedraggled forces marching in.

The Private Guard numbered around thirty men, all whom were completely loyal and hand-picked by Robin himself to protect the King.  Many of them were not masters of any weapons, but rather jack-of-all-trades men, both good with archery and swords.  Some of his men also specialized in other forms of unique weaponry, axes, halberds, and even one wielded a sledgehammer of sorts.

However, half of them were still stationed inside Acre, making sure to watch over the King at all times and Robin gestured for his archers to follow him back in.  He saw Richard, still in a slightly heated discussion with Robert de Sable and gestured wordlessly for his men to form a perimeter around the surrounding buildings, joining up with the others of the Private Guards.

Briefly sharing a look with Tomas who was standing near Richard, he made a quick gesture with his hands, a silent signal for him to take over in his stead.  He had a feeling that the King was going to take a while to chastise de Sable about why he had returned with at least fifty less men and almost three quarters of the Knights Templar injured in some way.  A small part of him was glad that de Sable’s ego was getting knocked down a few pegs, but he quickly quashed that part of him.  Men had died today and he did not need to glorify in their leader’s incompetence.

Tomas acknowledged the switch over with a practiced ease of a flickering hand before Robin headed off to the hospital tents.  They were mostly empty, the main bulk of the physicians, most of them belonging to the Knights Hospitalier, had moved to the fortress near the middle of the city.  It was by the debris walls which separated the two western entrances of the city.  Robin knew that Richard was originally set to use the fortress as his base, but instead, after they had cleared the city of any remnant Saracens, had discovered a better fortified and less damaged fortification alongside the rocky southern coast of Acre.

Richard’s fortification jutted neatly out into the sea, allowing him visibility towards the southern reaches where Jerusalem was, but also prevented anyone from potentially ambushing him by land or by sea.  It had originally taken the Private Guard and a majority of the First Column a while to clear out of remnant Saracen forces.  Immediately afterwards, Richard had put William of Montferrat in charge of rebuilding and tasking him with the governorship of Acre.

Meanwhile, Garnier de Naplouse, the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier appointed himself lord and ruler of the ruined fortification as well as the main medical facility were within the city.  Richard did not argue with it, letting King Phillip’s man having run of his little fortification.  It also helped since now the pilgrims and refugees have a place to rest and heal before they continued their way deeper into the city or onwards to Jerusalem.  Ever since they had captured Acre over two weeks ago, pilgrims had been flocking to Acre to pay their respects at the impressively built Cathedral of the Holy Cross before continuing on.

During the initial skirmish upon what was now called Richard’s Citadel, Robin and the men following him had lingered a bit at the massively huge cathedral that was before the Citadel, wondering how God had built such a magnificent structure.

After the battle, he had only visited once more, staring from one of the nearby rooftops towards the spire.  A brief thought had occurred to him there, seeing a few loose and jutting bricks and tiles.  If he hadn’t been afraid of falling to death from such a height, he wondered if he could climb all the way up to its cross.  What a magnificent view of the city the architect that had built the cathedral must have gotten by placing the cross so high up there.  He had probably even touched the face of God while doing so…

He quickly checked the remnant hospital tents and saw that only a few Crusades with minor wounds were there.  There was no sign of Carter, Much, or Jordan and he suspected that meant that the blond-haired Crusader had a much more serious wound which required him to go to the Hospitalier fortress.

He immediately headed there, his boots splashing on the rancid water left in the streets, avoiding as best as he could the fecal matter, blood, and other bodily wastes still left on the streets.  This was definitely the poorest of all the districts within Acre, being the most heavily shelled and battered of all.  He saw beggars wandering the streets, some trying to plead with pilgrims to give them some money for food, others just wandering around aimlessly, occasionally shoving a pilgrim or even merchants who were cautiously making their way back into the city.

The murmurs of shops selling broken wares were a mix of Arabic, English, French, and even a smattering of German.  Robin understood almost all of the languages spoken, with the exception of German since he had not had exposure to the hard-sounding language when he was young.  He had picked up Arabic in his four years in the Holy Lands, finding it very useful to eavesdrop on unsuspecting merchants or pilgrims who thought him as an ignorant Crusader.  He couldn’t speak it quite as well, but it was somewhat passable to issue commands to civilians to either evacuate or to calm them down if they were in a panic.

Through his walk towards the Hospitalier fortress, he kept a watchful eye on his surroundings for anyone acting suspicious.  It was calm now, two weeks after the battle, but he did not doubt for a second that there were assassins or even spies within the city, gathering information to give to Salah al-Din.  Above him a few guards patrolled the rooftops, watching the people down below and even some of the Hospitaliers and other Crusaders patrolled the streets, all of them wary and cautious.

Most of the uniforms were the white-crosses on black tunics of the Hospitaliers, Garnier’s men, but Robin did not doubt that their loyalty was to the Crusaders and the cause of recapturing Jerusalem.  He had no personal grudge against Garnier or the Knights Hospitalier, but he was curious as to why they all looked at Richard and his emblem with such disdain at times.

He ignored their looks as he was doing at the moment, but he wondered why they held such an animosity.  He walked into the small courtyard beyond the portcullis of the fortress and looked around, frowning.  There were patients, both civilians and Crusaders milling about, some wandering around aimlessly others wide eyed and seemingly in a fog of wonderment as they walked drunkenly around.

“ _Excuse me_ ,” he asked in French, stopping a nun who was walking from one of the entrances to another, “ _have you seen a blond-haired man with Richard’s emblem?  Captain rank?_ ”

“ _Over there_ ,” the nun smiled kindly at him before curtsying and hurrying away.  Robin followed where she pointed her finger, brushing past a few Crusaders and civilians, side-stepping to narrowly avoid a glancing blow from a drunkard who looked like he was just spinning in random circles.

He finally found Carter, being examined by a physician for a nasty looking hip wound on the man’s left side.  Without his chain mail and tunics on, the paleness of Carter’s chest stood out against the bleak grey backdrop of the Hospitalier fortress.  Robin saw numerous crisscrossed scars of old wounds and scratches received from battle for the past year since Carter had taken over the Fifth Column.  He knew his own body was in similar shape, but seeing the scars on someone else’s body somehow unnerved Robin a little.

He saw Much and Jordan standing a bit away from them, Carter’s squire looking more than fretful and Much looking like he wanted to calm the man down, but wasn’t quite sure how to do it.

“Robin,” Carter gave him a wincing smile, looking up at him from where he laid on a palate.  The physician was pulling a needle and stitching through his wound.  It was still bleeding, but a nun next to the physician made sure to dab the bleeding wound whenever it dripped down his side.

“Carter,” he pulled up a stool and sat down near the man, giving him a rueful smile, “finally found something that could make you bleed?”

“A pike from one of those damned Saracens,” Carter replied before stifling a hiss as best as he could as the physician finished up, tying the black stitching into a rather large knot.

“Saladin?” he asked.  If Robert had encountered Saracens then perhaps he was wrong about the man’s intentions.  Maybe in his four years here he had become more paranoid with the threat of attack hanging over them for so long.  Maybe it was he who had broken instead of Robert de Sable as he originally had thought.  That sobering thought cut through Robin like a knife to butter.  If he truly thought that…

“Assassins,” Carter spat the word like a curse and it jolted Robin from his dark thoughts.

“What?” he blinked, “Assassins?”  Maybe he wasn’t going crazy after all…maybe Robert de Sable did have a hidden agenda.

“We got the order to ride north, across the deserts and mountains to some little fortification called Masyaf,” Carter pushed himself up from his palate as the nun quickly bandaged his wound, wrapping the white clean cloth around his waist a few times before finally finishing up and curtsied to Carter and himself before hurrying away.  Robin barely acknowledged the nun’s departure, too focused on the blond-haired man’s words.

“What happened?  Why attack some town we are not interested in?” he wondered if attacking the rumored stronghold of the mysterious Hashshashin sect, or Assassins in the English tongue, was such a bright idea.  And was it related to whatever Robert had said about praying a couple of weeks ago?

Carter shrugged, taking a slightly dirt-smudged white shirt and putting it on before putting his tunic with the crest of the Knights Templar back on.  “Robert didn't say,” he said, “only that we were to attack Masyaf for scouting purposes.”

“Scouting,” Robin stated flatly, “the man has you attacking the Assassins' stronghold for scouting.  We are at war with Saladin, not with the Assassins!”

“You think I don't know that?” Carter glared at him, “I lost ten of my men when those damned bastards loosened logs from what we had thought was just a scout tower.  Fifteen more before that when Robert had the bright idea to attack civilians in the ravine town.”

“He attacked civilians?” if there was one line that Robin had never vowed to cross in his four years in the Holy Lands it was always to spare civilians whenever possible.  Sometimes that wasn't the case as the civilians themselves became warriors or even silent assassins.  He knew Robert had no qualms about attacking civilians, having seemingly lost his humanity somewhere in the  midst of battling against Salah al-Din's forces.

“We thought they were all Assassins until the real ones came to let the townsfolk escape up to their fortress,” Carter frowned, staring at one of the stone-pocketed walls.  Robin knew he probably blamed himself for launching an attack on civilians, but how could he know with such an unknown quantity.

“Masyaf is the stronghold of the Assassins,” a slightly nasal heavily French-accented voice spoke up near them.  Robin turned slightly to see the resident head physician and Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier Garnier de Naplouse examining a patient lying on a palate next to Carter's.

“Grand Master,”  he greeted, “I did not know you were aware of what has happened in Masyaf.”

“My patients,” the slightly built Frenchman looked over them down his hooked-nose, “all but talk of their misdeeds and nightmares.  It is simple to pick up the murmurings of my children and try to soothe them.

“But it is as you may say, a wolf in sheep's clothing, yes?” Garnier scratched his chin, “for all Robert may have known, everyone was an Assassin.”

“True,” Carter shrugged, “haven't really thought  of that point.  Still doesn't make me feel any better losing twenty-five of my men for a poorly fought battle.”

“They are with God, young one,” Garnier bent over his patient once more before making a small clucking noise and walked away to another bed, engrossed in his work once more.

Both Robin and Carter shared a look before Much huffed near them, crossing his arms, “Mental, I tell you...”

Robin had to laugh a bit at his statement and Carter also grinned in return.  However, he immediately sobered up and leaned over quietly, “I do have to tell you something since I know you're looking into the Grand Master's plans.”

“I am not,” Robin immediately denied, wiping the smile from his face.

Carter gave him a look that plainly said he knew he was lying, “I know I am your source of information for anything that goes on within the Knights Templar and we both know that I am on Robert's good side at the moment; though that may change since he got twenty-five of my men killed for no good reason.”

Robin looked at Carter, weighing whether or not he could trust the man.  Carter was a good man, he knew that, but how deep his loyalty ran to Robert de Sable if it was proven that the Grand Master was a traitor he did not know.  His King had commanded him to be discreet and to investigate on his own time.  So far no one else had figured it out that he was investigating de Sable, but he knew given their history that it may come out sooner than expected.  Carter was the first one to figure it out, but then again, he was also a prime source of information.  By telling Carter and letting him in, he risked being fed false information or having his own investigations go against him should Carter report back to Robert.

But to not trust Carter would be slamming the metaphoric door of their friendship on his face.  And it was about then that he realized what he had lost in the Holy Lands.  He lost faith and he lost the ability to trust anyone save for his own King.  That was not an issue of trust, but rather it was loyalty.  He didn't even trust Much, constantly cautioning him, ignoring him when he felt like he was whining.  He didn't really trust Tomas to lead in his stead.  It was just out of habit that he knew Tomas would lead when he was there.  But he always had to check everything that his men did just to be sure that everything was all right.

Robin made a decision, “I am to assure of Robert's loyalty to our cause.  Any information you can provide to prove that assurance would be helpful.”  It wasn't saying out loud that he trusted Carter, but rather it was a more formal way of saying that he wasn't going to slam the door of friendship in his face.  He hoped Carter got the message and saw him sit back, his face neutral before giving him a crooked smile.

“Two can play that game, Locksley,” Carter replied before leaning forward again, “Robert met us half way to Masyaf from farther south.  Rumor has it he rode from Jerusalem saying something about a stolen treasure of God.”

“Something to help in our Crusade?” Robin asked quietly, “a weapon?”

Carter shrugged, “That's all I heard...”

Robin nodded.  He wanted to tell Carter to keep him posted on anymore information, but that would bring him into his investigation and ultimately he did not want to compromise the man's position within the Knights Templar.  There would be other means of finding out information...and if Garnier de Naplouse indicated as such, patients within the Hospitalier fortress would be a good place to gather information.

There was still the lingering question of why de Sable had attacked Masyaf in the first place and how was it related to Jerusalem?  They had no quarrel with the Hashshashin and as far as Robin knew of the politics within the Holy Lands, the Hashshashin of Masyaf were extremely  neutral in this war.  Their only mandate as far as he could tell was highly visible political assassination of those who were corrupt men in the cities they ruled.  They did not want anything to do with King Richard and Phillip's Crusade.

He got up, gripping hands once the Knight Templar, “Get well soon Carter and thank you.”

Carter returned the firm hand shake with a slight twinkle in his eye, showing that he had forgiven Robin for abrupt attitude, “Any time.”

Robin caught Much's eye and the two of them headed out, Jordan bustling behind them to finally attend to his stubborn master.  As soon as they were back in the open courtyard of the fortress, he turned to Much, “Much, can I trust you to be discreet?”

“Of course,” he looked a bit affronted.

“See if you can find out from the others what de Sable was doing in Jerusalem.  But don't let anyone else know what you're looking for,” he cautioned.

“Robin?” Much looked a bit confused.

He shook his head as they stepped back out into the streets of Acre and looked around, “Robert is up to something.  I don't know what, but I want to make sure that it won't harm the King in any way.”

“Do you think the Assassins will come after the King since Grand Master de Sable attacked them?” Much asked quietly as they headed deeper into the city, towards Richard's Citadel.

Robin glanced at his manservant in surprise.  He had not really considered the idea.  He did not know how the Hashshashin would react to such an attack because he did not know how their society or laws worked.  What he did know was that they had strictly refused to help Salah al-Din and that they were an outcast branch of the Muslim faith that followed different tenets.  Was it possible that they would interpret de Sable's attack as the harbinger of an incoming Christian force?

“For de Sable's sake he better hope that does not happen,” he finally replied to Much's inquiry, “otherwise I will kill him first.”

                                    *                      *                      *

**Author’s Notes:**

            Fans of the game _Assassin’s Creed_ can already see the little bits of crossover I’ve put into this part.  I also want to apologize for the severe lack of action in this part.  I usually have someone already attacking or something of that nature and this part deals mostly with the politics and infighting amongst the Crusaders.  Of a historical note: Richard and Phillip did not really get along while they were running the Crusades and the men under them though of Richard as the stronger commander, that part is true.  Phillip will eventually leave before August of 1191 to return back to France.

            Another historical note is that _AC_ made it so that Robert de Sable was with the Knights Templar a lot longer, but in reality, he had only taken over the position of Grand Master in early 1191 after only being with the group for less than a year before that.  William of Montferrat likewise isn’t even supposed to be remotely near Acre.  He’s supposed to be in Tyre.  The part where I say he was a survivor of the Second Crusades is quite true.  Remember, this is a crossover with _AC_ so some parts of the history of the Crusades will be slightly warped.  My inner historian is not too happy with it, but he can go sit in a corner and pout.

            The final note I want to make in this chapter is that I will be moving this over to the crossover sections when Altaïr shows up which should be around Part 3.  Since this is mainly all Robin for the first two parts, it’s staying within _Robin Hood_ genre.


	2. Part 2: Witness

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

 

**Story:**

_Part 2 – Witness_

 

Several weeks had passed since Robert de Sable's return from a stinging defeat at the hands of the Hashshashin of Masyaf.  Through those weeks, Robin had learned very little, partially because the King had started to move around the city and the surrounding area to reassure his troops.  He was also beginning to head towards Arsuf Plains, eager to capture Jaffa now that Acre was secured under the regency of William of Montferrat.  But what Robin had gleaned from Much's innocent questionings and his own sources of information was that de Sable had indeed gone to the Temple of Solomon and had found something.  His sources did not know what it was, but they heard that he had been attacked by scholars dressed in white robes, but had escaped.

Robin did not know what the connection was between white-robed scholars and Robert launching an attack on Masyaf, but he knew something was there, yet somehow it eluded him.  Perhaps some of the scholars and priests were angry that whatever he had found was considered a defilement of God's sacred objects?  Or maybe Muslim objects?  But the two religions technically worshiped God all the same so it didn't quite make sense.  But he didn't doubt for one second Robert's greed for anything of value.

It would just be like the man to anger priests and scholars.  And Jerusalem was still under Salah al-Din's control so the Saracen presence there was very strong.  He was in the midst of setting up tents for the night at least twenty miles south of Acre when he saw Corin running towards him, his tunic flying behind him.  The boy stopped, out of breath and gasping for air as Robin steadied him and gestured for a waterskin bag be given to him.

Corin took the offered bag and gulped down greedily before taking a few more breaths and looked up at him.  “He's killing them, milord.  All of them,” the young messenger looked fearful, “all the Saracens!”

Robin frowned, puzzled, “But there has been no battle alarm-”

“The prisoners sire,” Corin gasped out, taking another gulp of water down.

“William?!” besides being charged with the regency of Acre, William of Montferrat was also in charge of the Saracen troops that had surrendered to them after they had won the port city.  Robin had heard King Richard talk of potentially doing a prisoner exchange for some of their own troops that had been captured during long battle for Acre.  He had also hoped that this would be a step in the direction of calling a cease fire with Salah al'Din since both sides were losing men left and right with each skirmish.

“Over by the low lying plains,” Corin pointed towards the low lying area a distance away from Acre and Robin thought he saw the small clouds of smoke, but couldn't tell with the mid-summer haze around the port city and surrounding areas.  He narrowed his eyes.  If William was doing this on his own, and most definitely not on the King's orders, then he would have to be stopped and brought before the King to face criminal charges of executing their prisoners who could have been used for an exchange.

“Tomas!” he called out to his _leftenant_ who jerked his head up from a conversation he was having with a couple of the other men, “take the rest of the men and report this to the King.  Much, you're with me.  Corin, find Carter and tell him what is happening.”

“As ordered,” Tomas nodded before turning to bark orders to the rest of the men who immediately sprang into action.  Meanwhile, Corin hurried to the other side of the encampment where the Templars usually were stationed.  Robin watched them go for a few more seconds before turning as Much brought forth two horses for them to ride and he mounted his.

“Master, what's-”

“It's madness that's what it is,” Robin replied curtly, angry that he did not anticipate that William would so carelessly slaughter so many soldiers who did not even have weapons to defend themselves.  He heeled his horse, the steed rearing slightly before galloping off. 

The deserted and misty plains of the battlefield, bodies still strewn in parts with rancid water puddles over them passed before his eyes, but Robin was more focused on his destination.  It was a small valley dip near Arsuf where they had been holding the Saracen prisoners.  As he got closer, he slowed his horse down to a trot and crested the ridge along with Much.

What he saw made him immediately halt his horse, the dappled mount whickering in displeasure at being pulled at the reigns so roughly, but nonetheless obeyed.  Bodies, hundreds of them, strewn about the small valley amongst the collapsed tents where the prisoners lived and slept in for the past two and half months since Crusader forces had captured Arsuf.

He saw in the distance a few Crusaders, their bright red cross a stark contrast against the musty grey-green of the surrounding landscape, holding bloodied weapons, coated with so much slick stickiness that their metal didn't even gleam in the dim sunlight anymore.  In fact, on closer inspection from his vantage point, he saw that they weren't wearing Crusader red, but rather, had painted them crudely on the fronts of their uniforms over another emblem...

“Master...that's...”

“I know...” Robin could barely breathe as he finally made out the real emblem beneath the fake bloodied one – it was the symbol of the King's own personal knights.

He saw William, sitting on his horse a bit behind the knights, watching with a cool and unreadable gaze.  Robin wanted to ride down and demand what was going on, but the mere sight of just seeing the King's own knights butchering the Saracens rooted him to the spot.  He couldn't believe it, it just wasn't possible.  How could the King's own knights be there?  Didn't Richard want a prisoner exchange?  Didn't he want to negotiate peace with Salah al-Din?  Already there was discontent amongst the other lords of nobility.  Phillip was already talking of leaving in the next week or so for France once more, having not fully recovered from his dysentery and sickness.  The Germanic forces under the command of Leopold V of Austria were thinking of returning too.  Many of their soldiers had been complaining that this was a lost cause and that God was not on their side, not since Frederick Barbossa drowned four years ago, even before they had landed in the Holy Lands.

So then why the systematic slaughter of the Saracens?  Was Richard considering pulling out, even after his single-handed victory in Acre?  Even when they were so close to launching an attack on Jaffa from the plains?  And from Jaffa it was only a stone's throw to Jerusalem.

He continued to watch the grisly tableau played out in front of him, some of the Saracens kneeling over their prayer mats in silent acceptance of their fate.  However, there were more than a few weeping openly and shouting their prayers in Arabic to Allah.  Even from the distance, he could make out some of their words in his rudimentary understanding of Arabic.  He pressed his lips in a thin line as his anger smoldered at such cruelty to the prisoners.  He understood killing a few, but the slaughter of so many was even unthinkable to him!

Robin didn't even bother to acknowledge the retching sound beside him as Much threw up whatever he had that morning.  He had long gotten used to the blood and gore spilt in the past three and half years.  Much always had a weak stomach, even when he was a child growing up in Locksley Manor.  However, after a few minutes, he closed his eyes and rubbed a growing headache that was beginning to form near his temples.  “Much,” he said softly, opening his eyes again, staring straight ahead, “return to the camp.  Tell Tomas to stand down.”

“But-”

“Much,” he made his voice as emotionless as possible, “do as I asked.”

There was a slight pause before Much's voice spoke up, resigned, “Yes Master.”  The sounds of another horse wheeling around followed by a neigh then the clip-clop of hooves fading away told Robin that Much had heeded his orders.  Much did not need to see this, did not need to see men at their worst.  It was best that he not be exposed to such harsh realities, that he be simpleminded and true to his heart.

Robin on the other hand, knew that he was going to stay, to finish watching the cold-blooded slaying of the prisoners.  It wasn't a case of sadism or egoism, but it was to remind himself the reason why he was fighting in the Holy Land.  But if this was on his King's orders, did he really want to fight anymore?  No, it couldn't be under Richard's orders.  The man would never condone such action.  It had to be William's hand alone...but the presence of the King's own knights.  Did that mean that William controlled a faction of those who were supposedly loyal to the King?  If so, it meant the most frightening possibility that the Private Guard was the only one left in the King's defense.  William of Montferrat was not a stupid man, after all, Richard gave him the regency of Acre...but did it mean that he was disloyal to the King?

There were so many variables and so many possibilities that Robin felt so out of the loop.  He knew he was missing vital information, something that would be able to piece all of this together...but what of it?  Were there two different plots now to contend with?  Two suspects?  Robert de Sable's faction and William's faction?  More than once in the past few weeks, he wished that he had all of the answers in front of him.

He sighed quietly and rubbed his temples once more.  The headache was getting to him...  But he would not leave his spot nor do anything else until the last of the prisoners was executed.  Then, he would find out what was really going on...

                                    *                      *                      *

The slaughter was finally finished late at night and Robin made his way slowly back into camp.  Dismounting his horse, he let one of the stable boys take care of his mount and trudged towards his tent.  Even though he had done nothing but watch all two thousand seven hundred, nearly three thousand Saracen prisoners die that day, he felt exhausted.   It was brutal, inelegant, and most of all crude.  Many of William's men and even William himself on occasion enjoyed the killing, their happiness lit in an insane fire in their eyes.

“Captain Locksley,” a soldier suddenly appeared in front of him, and Robin looked at him with dull eyes.  His hands had instinctively gone to his sword, but he had stilled the reaction to draw it in surprise almost as quickly.  “The King requests your presence.”

Robin nodded and the knight straightened once before walking away.  Spinning on his heel, he hurried towards the King's tent, wondering why he was awake at this late hour of the night when many in the camp were sleeping.  Passing by the two knights that guarded the entrance to his tent, he stepped in and cleared his throat, seeing Richard hunched over a table, parchments scattered all over the place.

“Milord,” he greeted neutrally, fighting to keep the weariness of the day's event out of his voice.

Richard looked up from his writings and stared at him with unascertainable eyes.  Robin held himself ridged, letting his King assess him.  After a few minutes of silence, his King sighed loudly and set his quill down, “What of your report?”

“All of the prisoners are dead, milord,” it was an effort to keep the anger that had been boiling within him all day from appearing in his tone, more so than the effort to keep the exhaustion and weariness out of it.

“Ah,” was the only reply Richard had to his statement before he pulled a small parchment from beneath several layers and offered it up to him.  Robin took the offered parchment and scanned its contents.  What he read made him frown and when he finished he looked up to his King who was still seated, staring at him expectantly.

“ _Is this true, milord?_ ” he asked in French, “ _Garnier de Naplouse is dead?_ ”

“ _Two days ago_ ,” Richard nodded gravely, “ _witnesses say he was killed by a white-robed scholar._ ”

“ _But scholars..._ ” Robin had seen the small groups of scholars wandering around Acre and even in the small villages they had passed in their march to Jerusalem.  They were usually old men, mumbling about their works and also occasionally of the Bible.  Some were from the Pope's own missions, established long ago.  Why would a white-robed scholar even think to kill the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier?  Especially since the man was helping the poor and local populace, or at least that was what he thought the eccentric man was doing.

“ _Perhaps they may have thought that his work was not of God or of saintly men, but of something sinister?_ ” Richard suggested gently and Robin wrinkled his brow confused.

“ _Milord?_ ”

“ _I have been getting disturbing reports recently of Garnier's work.  Phillip would not comment on it, saying that the Frenchman does not report directly to him, but rather to God as he is the Grand Master of the Hospitaliers_ ,” the King looked at him, “ _I give you leave to return to Acre.  Investigate Garnier's dealings.  Report back to me._ ”

“ _Yes milord_ ,” Robin did not know what Richard was asking him to investigate, but if his king was suspicious of something more sinister, then he would do as asked.  However, he still had one lingering question.  “ _Milord, a question if you may?_ ”

Richard looked at him curiously but nodded his head, “ _Speak._ ”

“ _The execution of the prisoners...?_ ”

“ _Is of no consequence,_ ” Richard's tone was final and a clear dismissal.  Robin bit his lip, knowing that he couldn't press anymore nor would his liege answer his inquiry regarding the Saracens.  He didn't want to suspect it, but a very small part of him wondered if the King did really order the death of so many men.  No, he didn't, he couldn't have.  His King would never resort to something so cruel.  It had to be William acting alone, had to be...

Robin straightened and sketched a short bow, “I will do as you ask, milord.”  He saw the small wave of acknowledgement before he turned and left the King's tent, heading straight for his own.  Already, he could see the moon halfway across the sky and wondered how much of the night was still left before he and Much were to leave early in the morning.

Entering his own tent, he glanced to his left just as a very loud snore rumbled throughout the small enclosure and he couldn't help but crack a small smile at the sight of his ever faithful Much; fast asleep on his own cot, or at least mostly on his own cot.  The poor man looked like he had clearly been trying to stay awake to greet his master like a good manservant would do, but had failed in the endeavor.  His legs were clearly hanging off of the cot and his head was at an awkward angle away from his pillow.

Robin shook his head and moved forward to gently rearrange his friend's sleeping position so that he would not wake up with such muscle strain.  After he was done, he stifled a small laugh as he saw Much curl up instinctively on his palate.  Sometimes he wondered why Much had accompanied him to the Holy Lands when clearly he was much more suited to just being back at Locksley.  Turning, he headed to his own palate and stripped off the grimy outer layer of his clothes before sitting down on his straw lined palate.

He pulled out his two daggers hidden in his boots and placed one under his pillow and the other on the side of his bed.  Setting his long sword on a small table above his palate, he took one last look around for any hidden traps or anything that seemed out of the ordinary, a habit he had picked up as soon as they had landed in the Holy Land and some damned assassin tried to cut his throat, before he blew out the candle that had dimly lighting the tent and tried to sleep.

                                    *                      *                      *

The morning came too early and lingered too long in Robin's opinion as he and Much made their way into the port city.  The sun had not even risen to its mid-point as they passed by the guards at the front entrance.  When they had left camp in the morning, Robin had left instructions to Tomas to take over in his stead until he would be able to return after his investigation.  His second-in-command had looked a bit resigned that he was to take command of the Private Guard once more, but had accepted it readily and without complaint.  Robin knew that Tomas did not really like commanding others, preferring to let his bow and sword do all of the talking, but also would be too honorable to complain.  He would watch over the Private Guard and watch over the King as best as he could, but would always be ready to hand over the reigns of power back to Robin when he returned.

Robin knew that most other men in his position wouldn't be so inclined to do so.  Many of the Crusaders were here for glory and for power.  To achieve a higher social standing by riding with the King and would grab at any opportunity for power.  Maybe it was the reason why he, a seemingly minor noble of England, not even Sheriff or a higher Lord like Carter's family, was appointed as Captain of the Private Guard.  Perhaps King Richard had seen that he did not wield power like a power-hungry noble, but rather used it as an efficient tool.  The Locksleys served the King as fighters and bowmen, but never had any Locksley achieved such a rank as he did.

He had always wondered why Richard had chosen him over the others, but did not dwell on it so much.  There would be time after to speculate.  Right now was the time of regaining the Holy Lands for the honor and glory of the Church.

As soon as they dismounted their horses at the stables, Robin gave the reigns to his dappled steed to a young scrawny little boy who surprisingly had a lot more strength in his arms than he gave him credit for.  He glanced around and saw that indeed there were a lot more Hospitalier knights wandering around the area.

“Hey,” he called to the stable boy who had grabbed Much's horse's reigns, “what's your name?”

“Arno, sire,” the young boy replied, “what do you wish milord?”

“First,” Robin gave the young boy a sideways smile, “no Lord and all that stuff.  Just Robin.”  At the boy's surprised nod he continued, “Second, do you know where I can find Grand Master de Naplouse?”

“But-”

Robin shot a look at Much who immediately shut up.

“You must not have heard then,” Arno gave the two of them a curious look before shrugging, not quite understanding what had happened between them, “the Grand Master is dead.  Died in the hospital fortress he worked in.”

“Really?” Robin was surprised, but not as much.  The Hospitalier fortress, while readily guarded, was also a free roaming area where those who had ailments and afflictions that bothered them were able to come in freely and be treated.  But for an ailing scholar to perhaps kill the Grand Master when he was clearly injured...?

“Not surprising though,” Arno continued, “he wouldn't let his patients out, claiming that they needed extra care.  Only the Crusaders were allowed to leave and that was because Lord Montferrat needed them to guard the city.”

“So perhaps some of them went a bit insane with this extra care?” he wondered what kind of extra care the Grand Master could provide, but considering that the man was a bit eccentric and called his patients his “children” when he was there visiting Carter weeks ago, it wasn't too far for his imagination to conjure up images of what the Crusader could do.   After all, sadistic torture and other forms of unsavory entertainment were prevalent amongst the men.  He had turned a mostly blind eye to the rapes and occasional torture the other forces under Richard's command did to some of the women and men, knowing that he couldn't do anything and people needed an outlet to the constant barrage of violence.  But if anyone of his own men under his command did such a thing, they would feel the force of his swift retribution.

Even he wasn't immune to the pure unadulterated joy of violence in torturing or beating an assassin up and he knew that was one of the more darker aspects that he had seen risen in himself for the past three and half years of fighting.  So it stood that perhaps some of the Grand Master's patients had snapped under his methodical “care.”

“I've a friend who works in the fortress.  Name's Jane.  She knows more,” Arno shrugged.

“Thank you,” Robin nodded before digging into a small pouch he kept next to his sword and flipped the boy a coin.

“Wow...” the boy stared at the shiny gold coin before look up at him, a bright smile on his dirt-streaked face, “thank you sire!”

“Just take care of my horses, Arno,” he grinned before heading deeper into the city, Much following behind him.

Robin knew that whatever Arno had told him was speculative and hearsay.  The King would want proof and to do that he needed witnesses and possibly had to enter the fortress himself to gather evidence.  So far, there was a lead with this friend of Arno's, Jane.  If she worked in the fortress then perhaps she was a Sister of the local church?  He would have to visit the Cathedral of the Holy Cross and ask around for her.  Or either go into the fortress and ask for her.

However, judging by the increased guard presence of the Hospitaliers here in this section of their city, he had a feeling that he would not be able to get into the fortress.  He knew he could have just declared that the King was investigating the Grand Master's death, but word would return to Phillip of Richard's intentions and that wouldn't go over so well in the political sense.  Plus many of the Hospitaliers were French like Garnier.  They would probably not like Englishmen investigating their affairs.  The only other option would to see the regent William of Montferrat and have him force the Hospitaliers to let him have free access to the fortress.

But after seeing the man butcher Saracens yesterday, he did not know if he wanted to confront him so soon; perhaps in a week or so, when he had time to let his head and anger cool down.  In the meantime, he would pursue this Jane lead that Arno told him to seek out.

“Where are we headed?” Much asked as they weaved around the streets, occasionally stopping to let a large group of peasants and traders pass by, the market thriving even under such decrepit situation in the city.  Further into the city, the damage by the last battle was not as apparent as it was near the city gates, but the smell of rancid water mixed with the salty air of the port city was still lingering.  Occasionally Robin caught the whiff of dead fish, some times leaving him near gagging at the rotten smell, but he managed to keep whatever was left of his breakfast inside his stomach.

He hoped Much was faring better and turned back slightly to see him holding a cloth to his nose and mouth, his face pale.  “Are you all right?” he asked as they paused by a wooden bench.

“It smells,” Much complained before sitting down on the bench.  Robin didn’t blame him…the smell was pretty rancid at times.  The only relief was that it was not a constant sea breeze that blew the smell from the beaches and rocky coastal areas.

Robin looked up, squinting against the sunlight.  It had to be late morning, perhaps near noon, especially with the oppressive heat in full force.  Sighing he handed Much the waterskin bag.  “Here, rest for a bit.  I’ll see if I can find some food for us,” he said as he walked off, hefting his small travel pack on his back.  They had a meager amount of rations in their pack, but Robin preferred to use the local currency and get fresh food compared to the salted pork, and nearly stale bread that they carried.

Plus, he had to admit, some of the local flavors did have some unusual spices in them that he liked eating.  It was also a good way to build some goodwill to those who were recently conquered.  To reassure them that while they had new masters over their cities, they would not be driven out and instead be a continuous source of commerce.  Many of the other soldiers he knew used the people as a different sort of commerce, especially the women and children.  He was able to stop some of it, but many of the field commanders were untouchable by his rank and command.  Only the King would be able to order them to stop prostituting the women and children and Richard had no qualms letting his men do whatever they wanted.

He had initially protested against his King’s lack of actions until Richard told him that if the men did not find any release of sorts, then their morale would drop.  However, he did say it was despicable, but there was nothing he could do without risking the abandonment of his men.  That was the end of that argument and Robin knew he couldn’t do anything to change his King’s mind once it had been made up.

Spotting a stand near the bench where Much was resting, he walked up to it and ordered a few of the local foods in Arabic, surprising the proprietor who immediately launched into a fast and quick firing of questions.  Robin could barely keep up with the man’s excited questioning before he finally lost track of what the man was saying and shook his head.  “ _I only know a little Arabic good sir_ ,” he managed to get out before the proprietor stopped and stared at him for a second before a wide smile split his bushy beard in two.

He said something else that Robin couldn’t quite catch, but suspected it was probably a joke or maybe a good humored comment of sorts, judging by the smile the man wore before handing him his food.  Robin thanked him before heading back to the bench and gave Much his portion.

The two of them ate in companionable silence and finished their meal a few minutes later.  Robin sat back, enjoying as much as the short downtime he had at the moment as he could.  Times like this were rare, far and few in-between in the Private Guard.  They were in a constant state of vigilance, always ready to protect the King at a moment’s notice, always ready for combat against any assassin who wanted to kill him.

“Do you think it’s like this at home right now?  Like Market Day?” Much asked as he also leaned back.

“Probably,” one of the things he had missed was Market Day when they had first arrived at the Holy Lands.  Just the feel of the bustling crowd, peasants and traders hawking their wares, the general feeling of happiness and even some side entertainment by jesters and comedic troupes that had arrived.  But looking at the bustle of Acre, it felt a bit like home…except almost everyone was speaking in Arabic.

He stretched slightly before rocking to his feet and glanced down at Much, “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

Much nodded reluctantly before getting up and handing him the waterskin bag to which he secured it back onto his pack.  They headed off to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross and arrived at the open courtyard before the massive cathedral.  Robin took a moment to stare once again at the impressive and tallest building he knew of within Acre.

“Do you think someone climbed up there?” he saw Much pointing at the topmost spire, where the cross stood.

“The architect, no doubt.  Otherwise, how do you think the cross got up there?”

“That…is a long drop,” Much’s eyes went from the top to the bottom ground, where there was nothing but the unforgiving cold stone of the surrounding areas.  There was a small pile of hay near the courtyard of the building, but Robin doubted anyone who leapt from the top or even not near the top would be able to accurately land in such a small pile of hay; it would be suicide.

“Come on,” he pushed at Much’s back, taking him away from his musings as they entered the cathedral’s front doors together.  Robin immediately spotted a Sister lighting candles near the front entrance and headed towards her.

“Excuse me Sister,” he murmured quietly, not wanting to interrupt the prayers of others and the Sister turned around, a soft gentle smile on her old-lined face.

“What can I do for you, my son?” she asked, “Do you need a confession or would you like to sit amongst the pews in contemplation of our Lord’s work?”

“At this moment, no thank you,” Robin saw the slight flicker of disappointment in the Sister’s eyes, “but I was wondering if you or any of the Sisters or Brothers knew of a Sister named Jane who worked in Grand Master Garnier de Naplouse’ hospital?”

“Ah, the Grand Master may his soul find peace,” the Sister made the sign of the cross on her chest, “and may those who did such violence to him be punished in the eyes of God when they meet him.  To answer your question, young sir, no, there is no Sister Jane that works in the hospital.”

“Could she be from another of the churches?” Robin asked, wondering if Arno had told him the right information.

“No, not that I know of…”

“A stable boy, Arno-“

“Oh!” the Sister suddenly broke into a smile, “ _that_ Jane who is a friend of Arno!  Yes, yes, I do know her.  She comes every other day to confess.  Poor child, we have tried to help her so many times, but she always returns to her wicked ways…  Alas, I do hope God has watched over her kindly.”

“Pardon?” if Jane was not a Sister then was she just a trader?  But wicked ways?  It did not make sense…

“You may find her, or at least where she may reside if you ask the Mother, Kalilah, in the house near the main thoroughfare before Richard's Citadel.  There are two rose-gold sheets covering the awning.  Her real name, I think, is Janan.  She had Anglicized it when she accepted the Lord and Savior, and uses it during her rounds in the hospital.”

Robin had a sneaking suspicion about what this Janan, Jane, whatever her name was did at the hospital – and it wasn't anything Sister related.  Nodding he smiled kindly at the Sister, “Thank you.”  He drew out a couple of coins from the small bag he always carried with him and pressed it into her hands.

She looked at the amount and her eyes widened slightly before she looked up at him and her smile brightened, “Thank you kindly milord.  May God watch over you and your work.”

Robin turned away and headed out of the church and towards the distant landmark of Richard's Citadel.  Much followed quietly behind him as they weaved their way through the streets and bustling merchants hawking their wares, peasants shouting their prices.  Once or twice Robin saw a few of the soldiers who wore Richard's emblem, but were under the command of William of Montferrat  harassing a couple of the peasants and a few merchants, but knew that he could not do anything as it was William's rule, not his issue to deal with.

As long as it seemed that they weren't going to kill anyone, Robin would leave them alone.  Plus, his liege had told him to be discreet.  Stopping every soldier who attempted to teach the populace a lesson would only undermine the authority Richard had bestowed upon William and would only expose his efforts to find out the deeper, if any, purpose of Garnier's death.  If there was no discipline or anyone who abide by the law of their conquerors, then everything would fall to anarchy and Acre would ultimately be lost once more – this time to lawlessness.

“Master, there isn't another church in this direction,” Much spoke up behind him as they entered the main thoroughfare and Robin looked around at the buildings behind him, for the rose-gold sheets covering awnings.

“I know,” Robin absently replied as he walked up and down a few of the streets, through the small narrower streets.  He finally spotted what the Sister had told him and appraised the building for a few seconds, looking up and down.

It definitely had gaudy rose-colored sheets with gold-thread lining, but even they looked tattered and faded.  The wooden door was patched up in a few spots and the sandstone front fading slightly from the sun beating down upon it.  There was a burly looking Saracen, armed to the teeth outside the door, glaring at nothing in particular.  Robin knew his kind, the muscle of the establishment, only there to ensure no one was injured, or at least no one important.

“Um...this...is a...um...” Much looked very uncomfortable and Robin shook his head.

“Much,” after all of these years, it still made him laugh inwardly to see Much so awkward and unfamiliar with the seedier side of society, especially when confronted with it like now.  However, he also did not want his friend to be too uncomfortable, “stay out here, I'll be back out in a few minutes hopefully with this Jane woman Arno was talking about.”

“You sure?  I mean, it's no trouble-”

“Don't worry my friend;” he placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly, “your virtue will be safe.”

He left his manservant there, pondering his words as he eyed the burly Saracen who eyed him back before nodding once, letting him enter.  Robin opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the musky smell of incense and perfumes.  It wasn't a bad odor, and was actually somewhat pleasant, but he wouldn't have spent all day in a brothel with the smell permeating the area.

More than one hand grabbed at his arms and through the smoky incense, he saw at least two women, batting their eyes seductively at him, enticing him to come with them and he shook his head.  He had not been with a woman for a long time; keeping his own hope that Marian would be the one.  He had to admit, their seductive attempts to lure him to their beds were enticing, but he forced himself to focus on the mission at hand.  “I need,” he ducked under one girl's attempt to embrace him, to bury her breasts, barely covered by the thin translucent sheet covering them, into him, “to see Mother Kalilah.”

Suddenly a loud double clap scattered the girls and Robin looked up to see a woman, handsomely dressed in very fine silks and beads, approach him.  She had an air of authority, yet her eyes were kind and compassionate, almost motherly.  She had to be the Mother of this brothel, the one in charge.

“I am Mother Kalilah,” her English was heavily accented, but nonetheless he was able to make her words out.  She smiled gracefully at him as the girls shrank away, some cooing their displeasure at not being able to take him to their beds.  However, they did not disappear, still hoping that he was a patron for their wares.  “You are not surprised I speak your language Crusader?  Then you must know we provide services for your men even before the city had fallen to your hands.”

“I understand, but I am not looking for the services your women provide,” Robin replied and was about to ask for Jane when he saw her smile grow slightly wider as the girls around her all sighed in disappointment.

“Ah, then perhaps you prefer boys then-”

“No!” Robin realized what he had said was probably not the most politically correct thing to say in a brothel and shook his head vehemently, “no.  I am looking for a girl.  A Janan?  A Sister at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross told me I could find her here.”

“Janan?” the slow smile that had been working its way up Kalilah's face immediately morphed into a frown, “I am surprised you know her name as such.  She uses her Anglicized name, Jane, when she deals with customers such as yourself.  It is easier for your kind to say when taking her.  For you to know her as Janan-”

“I need to question her about a few things,” Robin did not like where Kalilah was going with the current conversation and cut her off roughly.

“Well,” the Mother of the brothel huffed crossing her arms across her chest, “she's not here.”  He had a feeling that he had shot whatever goodwill he had with her down into the harbor.

Robin sighed, rubbing his eyebrow to relieve a slight knot of tension.  It also didn't help that the incense was starting to give him a heady feeling along with a slight headache.  “ _I apologize_ ,” he apologized in Arabic and saw the slightly surprised look on Kalilah's face along with some gasps from the girls.  Based on his observations of the customs of those living here, it was rare to hear a man apologize to a woman, much less the Mother of a brothel.

Switching back to English he looked up again and pursed his lips, debating whether or not to tell her that he needed to ask Janan about her involvement if any in witnessing Garnier de Naplouse's death.  Not telling Kalilah would only bring more suspicion on him and he knew based on some of his own men's accounts that brothel Mothers were very protective of their girls, especially if it seemed a Crusader or even a Saracen were to take advantage of them and harm them.  They were the ones bringing in the currency and were what made the brothel a business.

But telling her had its advantages...for one; he had always suspected that brothels were a hub for information.  However, he still did not know if he could trust Kalilah not sell any of the information he may tell her.  She was a Saracen after all, and could potentially be a spy for Salah al-Din.  If Salah al-Din found out that the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier was dead, would he take advantage of their slightly weakened state and attack?  Acre was well fortified thanks to William's soldiers and the increase in troops landing by the day from Cyprus and other lands.

But not telling her would kill his own lead so far in his investigation.  It was a risk he would have to take, he decided as shifted his feet.  “I was sent to investigate the death of Grand Master Garnier de Naplouse.  My source told me that Janan would have more information regarding his death as she worked in the hospital.”

He saw her purse her lips slightly before uncrossing her arms, “Yes, I have heard of this a few days ago.”  She walked up to him and stared up at him, her dark eyes assessing him.  Robin let her invade his personal space, sensing that she was evaluating his inner character.  For what, he did not know, but he hoped that she would at least give him the information he wanted after he had revealed to her his purpose for finding Janan.

She stepped back after appraising him for a few minutes and nodded once, “Janan is at the hospital.  She will be wearing a blue shawl lined with gold bells.”

“Thank you,” he replied before placing a small stack of coins in her hand.

Kalilah deftly hid the coins away with a flick of her wrist before bowing her head slightly, “You are always welcomed back here, Crusader, may I have your name?”

“Robin,” he replied before heading out of the brothel and back into the summer heat of Acre.

Shielding his eyes from the glare of the midday sun, he blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust before he saw before him the angry, irate face of Much, glaring at him.  Ah, so his manservant figured out his words.  The urge to smile at such a comically angry face was great, but Robin managed to keep his face from twitching or showing any sign of humor.

“You lied,” Much glared at him as they headed out of the alleyway and back into the main thoroughfare.

“No, I did not,” Robin replied simply, biting his lip before he could grin, “I merely told you the truth.”

“Oh, after a fashion,” his manservant was quick to reply, “and it is still a lie.”

“Just greying the truth a bit,” Robin conceded as they walked towards the Hospitalier fortress, “and that is not lying.  It is merely leaving out details.”

He glanced sideways and saw Much open his mouth to retort before he closed it once more, pondering Robin's words.  After a few minutes, he finally nodded, but huffed in annoyance.  “I still think you lied.”

“Think all of what you want, friend,” Robin clapped him on the shoulder, “but do so in silence.  Kalilah said that Janan is here and I intend to find her.”  They had arrived at the fortress in short order and Robin could see the tension in the knights and soldiers that wore the Hospitalier colors.  Each and every one of them was looking around warily, glaring at peasants that were hurrying along the roads, even towards a few children who were just merely playing in the streets.

“Halt, what business do you have here?” one particularly gruff and bearded Hospitalier stopped Robin and Much at the gates to the fortress.

“Captain Locksley of the Private Guard,” Robin identified himself, “my manservant and I are here on the King's orders.”

“And what orders are those?  William of Montferrat has received no such orders allowing anyone into the fortress,” the guard replied, staring at him as if he was just no more than the dirt on the road.

Robin narrowed his eyes slightly as he stared at the guard.  If William had ordered the fortress off limits to anyone, then how could Janan be inside as Kalilah had said?  Unless...

A sudden horrible sickening feeling filled Robin as he realized what was going on.  He seriously hoped his instinct was wrong, but a part of him knew that it was all too common in situations like these, especially if the Hospitaliers needed someone to blame and quick.  “Much,” he growled out, startling his friend who immediately recognized what was about to do, but wisely did not say anything.

“Excuse me?” the guard sneered, not quite catching what he said, “I don't care if you're God himself, if you want in, go see William-”

Robin charged past the guard, pushing him aside, even though he was at least a head taller than him and hurried into the main courtyard, ignoring the shout from the startled guard.  He looked around quickly and heard a distant wail echoing off the stone walls of the fortress and picked the direction it was coming from, quickly brushing by the guards who had tried to move to restrain him.

“After him!” he heard the distant shout behind him from the initial guard he had passed and he quickly walked the stone halls, ducking and weaving past patients still receiving care from some Sisters and even a few other physicians who were there before he came upon the grisly scene and the pained shout that had alerted him to what was going on earlier.

A young woman, no older than perhaps late teens, was on the ground, curled up defensively.  Blood oozed from the welts and wounds across her back and her whole body.  The remnants of the blue-gold shawl that Kalilah had told him Janan was wearing hung in tatters around her shoulders.  Her once-faded green dress was also in tatters, the ruined cloth barely covering her up in the front, but was harshly exposed in the back.

She was whimpering, one arm hugging the ground, the other hugging one of her knees in and effort to stem the pain that she had to be feeling from the whip lashes across her back.  The anger that Robin felt at seeing the poor woman beaten on the ground filled him quickly and he snapped his gaze up at the surrounding Crusaders who were laughing and jeering at her, some even kicking her, making her cry out and curl up further.

“What in the name of God is going on?!” he shouted, shutting all of the Crusaders immediately up and making all of them stare at him.

Behind him, he heard the guards that had been chasing him skid to a stop, the sound of weapons drawn out of their scabbards loud and harsh in the silence.  “You are-” the lead guard behind him started and Robin whirled around, stopping the man with a glare.

“You are in no position to demand my arrest, soldier!” he said in a cold voice before turning back around and looking at the other startled Crusaders.  “Which one of you is in charge of this farce?!”

He looked around, seeing almost everyone's gazes’ advert to the ground.  A few though, glared at him, challenging him before their eyes slid to his emblem and the insignia on his armor.  It was subtly woven into his clothing, but visible enough so that if one knew what they were looking for, they would see it – the crest that showed he was in charge of the Private Guard.  It was then that their eyes widened before they hastily also adverted their gazes.  Beyond them, the poor young woman, Janan, whimpered, slowly trying to ease her own pain.

“And what would the Captain of the King's Private Guard want with such filth?” a feminine voice a little deep and English-accented, but nonetheless feminine, spoke up from amongst the small group of Crusaders.

Robin watched as woman with brown hair, cropped to her neck, stepped out from amongst the group and approach him, her arms cross imperiously, her gaze sharp and full of disdain.  He saw that she was wearing the emblem of the Knights Templar, one of Robert de Sable's men...before he realized who she was.

There had been rumors that Robert had a steward who was a woman.  Many of the other men, Carter and Tomas included, had joked that said woman was not just a steward, but Robert's woman.  However, there was also the rumor that she was a superb fighter and thus, Robert had allowed her to stay with the Knights Templar even after the deception had been discovered.  This had to be the woman that served Robert faithfully...which meant, she was dangerous...

“I was sent to investigate the Grand Master of the Hospitalier's death.  Given the circumstances, you can see why King Richard wants to know how the death of one of his allies' prominent men could have occurred,” he said carefully.  If the woman that served de Sable was here, did de Sable have an interest in his rival's death?  Was it a cover up of sorts?  To blame Janan for something instigated by the Knights Templar?

As far as he knew the Hospitaliers and Knights Templar did not get along, the two being rival factions besides also having a rivalry with the Knights Teutonic.  The three groups were all out to bring glory and honor to their own factions...

“I am Maria Thorpe, Grand Master de Sable's steward.  You must not have heard,” she looked at him levelly as she stood just a few inches shorter than him, “Robert had told the King he would look into de Naplouse's death personally.  Your presence is not required here.”

A steward, while technically holding no rank nor title within the Crusaders' armies, was also a trusted person to whom if the commander were to fall, many would turned to the steward to make sure that they received their next orders.  They were also the ones operating in the shadows if they weren't in a visible battle-held position.  As a woman, Maria would never earn the respect of the men in battle, so Robin concluded that Robert de Sable had to be using her as his shadow agent of sorts.

But the evident dismissal in her voice told him that she commanded this group of Crusaders who had been whipping and raping Janan.  Yet, the lack of blood, even small flecks, on her clothes told him that she had not participated in the cruel sport, preferring to watch her men do the work.  However, Robin did not let that bully him, after all the King did not even mention de Sable to investigate Garnier's death, which could mean that de Sable was interested in something the Grand Master did or was involved in.

“And beating this poor woman is helping you find your answer?” he asked, arching an eyebrow, “I do not see an investigation here, just a torture for sport.”

“This woman,” Maria spat, “claims to have witnessed the death of the Grand Master had even caught him as he fell.  I believe she may have done the deed.”

“Do you further proof?  Other witnesses?”

“We are in the process of conducting our own questioning of the patients here,” Maria shrugged, “they do not concern-”

“This is now my concern because rumor has it that a white-robed scholar was seen in the area,” Robin replied, “and if this woman did truly kill Garnier, for what reason would so do so?”

“She's a Saracen, what more of a reason do you need?” one of the Crusaders behind Maria spoke up, his tone incredulous, but immediately stopped talking when Maria held up a hand.

“There are many scholars who come in and out of the fortress.  They are more unlikely to kill the Grand Master than to be preaching with their books.  No, even if this woman did not kill de Naplouse, she knows who did.”

“And by beating her within inches of her life, humiliating her, you think that she would tell you her accomplices if any?” Robin did not know if Janan was really the killer, but he would not stand there and watch a woman be beaten to an inch of her life if he could do something.  Female assassins and soldiers, while rare, were not uncommon in the Holy Lands he had learned when he first arrived years ago.  In some of the small villages that they had conquered early on, they had encountered women and even children, fighting and screaming curses at their fathers, mothers, and even to God, trying to save their own homes and husbands, brothers, and sons who had died in the initial conquest.

The concept of a female assassin potentially harming the King had not crossed Robin's mind, and with Maria's suspicion, even though the woman herself was quite sadistic and content to watch someone be beaten, that Janan witnessed Garnier's death, was intriguing.

“She will talk, one way or another,” Maria said in a simple tone, “now then, Captain, if you are done interrogating my methods...”

“Actually, no,” Robin moved forward and quickly gathered Janan's trembling form into his arms, the young woman whimpering at the sudden contact.

“What-”

“Hey!”

“Excuse me-”

“You may continue your questioning later, Steward,” Robin addressed Maria by her rank, stressing that he was ranked higher than her, “right now, this woman needs medical treatment, obviously not from this hospital or physician.”

“Captain!” Maria made a move to protest and even the Crusaders surrounding Robin made a move to stop him and Much, but he spun a circle around them, glaring at all of them.

“If any of you wish to challenge the King's authority here, then by all means, do so.  But know this, we are not here as savages, we are here for God.  Ask yourselves if what you have done today is right in God's eyes and for this Crusade?” with that he headed back out of the fortress, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of everyone who watched him carry Janan, half-naked, but wide-eyed and silent.

In the courtyard, Robin knelt down and gestured to Much to remove a blanket from their travel pack and quickly wrapped it around her trembling form.  “It is all right, Janan, you are among friends,” she looked at him with terrified eyes before giving a small reluctant nod.

“J-Jane,” she hissed quietly through clenched teeth as he picked her up again.

“ _To me, you are Janan_ ,” he replied haltingly in Arabic, “ _you do not have to use your Anglicized name if you do not wish it._ ”  Turning to Much he gestured for him to come closer, “Much, go find Arno.  Bring him to the brothel; he may have more information than he first let on.”

“Yes Master,” Much hurried away, turning back once to make sure he was all right before Robin waved him away as best as he could with his hands carrying the young woman.

As soon as the crowd covered Much's form, Robin hurried back towards the brothel, ignoring the stares and pointed whispers he occasionally got from some of the patrolling guards and even a few merchants who weren't busy selling their wares.  When he turned down the small alleyway where the brothel was located, he caught the eye of the bouncer who immediately straightened and approached him, his eyes glittering with anger.

“She's been hurt, get Kalilah,” Robin's tone brook for no argument and halted the burly Saracen in his tracks before he narrowed his eyes, staring at him for a few seconds before his gaze slid to Janan's half-conscious whimpering form.  A few more seconds passed and while he knew that he could have brushed past the bouncer, he did not want to cause anymore pain to Janan and her wounds by being so rough with her or the bouncer.

“Follow,” the bouncer replied gruffly, his accent coloring his English heavily.  He opened the door and Robin stepped in, assaulted once more by the perfumes and incense of the place.

A couple of the girls hurried over, unaware of Janan in his arms, sensing a customer before the bouncer immediately halted them with a shake of his head and murmured to one of the girls who immediately took one look at the young woman in his arms before hurrying upstairs.  The other girls immediately stared at him holding Janan, their eyes wide with fear before they shrank back, clutching each other in fear.

Kalilah immediately hurried down the stairs and wordlessly gestured for him to follow her.  She also barked a few orders in Arabic that Robin couldn't quite catch before the girls broke from their huddling and hurried to do the Mother's orders.  “Lay her down here,” Kalilah ordered him gesturing to a long table and he put her down gently.

Janan immediately twisted to her left, a muffled cry of pain coming from her lips before the Mother was by her head, shushing her gently as a couple of the other girls came in with bandages, cloths, a water bowl along with a bowl of something that smelled interesting.  It had to be something to help the wounds heal; he figured as he stepped back, seeing Kalilah and the other prostitutes getting to work to heal the poor young woman.

He watched by the doorframe as the women worked on their fellow comrade.  Was Janan really the one to kill the Grand Master?  She looked delicate and she could have been trained as an assassin, but somehow, it didn't seem to add up.  If she was an assassin why would she return to the scene where she made her kill?  Wouldn't she want to make her escape if the city was wary for any assassin?  Plus, there was still the rumor of robed scholars in the area when Garnier was killed.

Maybe he would have to ask around the scholars in the area to see if they knew or saw anything.  Robin sighed, rubbing his eyes before a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he turned slightly, dismayed that he didn't feel anyone approaching, to see the gruff face of the bouncer, holding a small cup of a liquid that smelled alcoholic towards him.

“Drink,” the bouncer shoved the cup towards him and Robin tentatively took it.

Sniffing it, he was tempted to say that he was fine.  He didn't even know if it was poisoned, but...  His gaze slid sideways to the bouncer who was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.  For all he knew, the bouncer and even Kalilah could have thought that he had beaten Janan up and this was a way to silence him without the bloody mess of killing someone.  Or it could be a peace offering...

Robin blew out a quick sigh before downing the liquid in one quick gulp.  The alcohol burned all the way down his throat, but he refused to cough it out and instead, gave the bouncer a watery grin.  It had a slight nutty berry flavor and was actually pretty good, but the alcohol content was definitely high as he could feel it coursing throughout his system.

To his surprise the bouncer chuckled at his expression before taking the cup away from him and leaving him alone.  He had a feeling that he made a new friend in the last few seconds by drinking the liquid.  Shrugging, he was about to look into the room where Janan was being cared for by the Mother and the others when a knock to the door made him glance towards it.

It had to be Much, he realized.  Anyone else would have just walked in, especially if they were a patron of the establishment.  He hurried over just as he saw the burly bouncer hurrying towards the door, and opened it.  Much and Arno stood at the threshold, the young boy looking a bit scared and frightened.

“Were you followed?” Robin asked Much as he let the two in and shook his head slightly towards the bouncer who looked torn for a second before nodding his acquiesce.

“I don't think so,” Much shook his head just as Arno bolted for the room where Janan was being cared for.

“Jane!” the young boy saw Janan's head, half swathed in bandages and Robin barely caught him by the scruff of his neck, pulling him back towards him.

“But-”

“Janan will be fine.  Right now, I need you to answer some questions,” he replied before half dragging, half steering the boy to one of the lounge chairs on the side.  Sitting the boy down, Much immediately stood by Robin's side, effectively trapping the boy from escaping.

He noticed the slight fearful look on Arno's face before it was quickly replaced by a sullen, yet somewhat defiant glare.  “What do you want?  Jane's hurt and it's obvious that you did it.”

“My Master did no such-”

“How much did you know of Janan's involvement in Garnier de Naplouse's death?”

“I don't know anything.  All I know is that she was there,” Arno refused to look at him and instead crossed his arms across his chest.

“Did you know that Grand Master Robert de Sable was going to send his men to investigate?” Robin asked.

“No!” Arno glared up at him, “is that who beat Jane?  Are you sure?  I'll kill them-”

“Easy, easy there,” Robin suddenly restrained the young boy from reaching up and trying to force his way past the two of them, “you go after any of de Sable's men and you will end up dead.”

Arno fought his iron grip for a few more seconds before huffing a large sigh and sitting back against the chair once more, his hair a bit disheveled.  “Jane promised me that she was going to take care of me.  She and I were going to get married!”  The young stable boy looked angry and sad at the same time, “I don’t want anything happening to her.  I didn't know...”

Robin knew that Arno was probably a few years younger than Janan, so probably looked at the stable boy as like a younger brother of sorts instead of a potential husband.  However, it seemed that she was also probably too kind to break the young boy's heart and so let the illusion that she was to marry him fester within him.  Arno was just a stable boy as far as he knew, and probably an orphan.  Janan probably provided him with some of the money she made from her prostitution in order to feed and clothe him.  But...

Robin sighed and let go of Arno, “Arno, could you think of any reason, any at all, if Janan could have killed the Grand Master?”

“No way!  Jane wouldn't!  She's too nice to do something like that!  She just wanted to make sure that the Grand Master's patients received some care when they were recovering!” Arno shook his head vehemently, “she's not an assassin!”

“If there's anyone who-”

“Robin,” Kalilah's exhausted voice spoke up quietly from the door to the room where he had left Janan and Robin looked up to see the Mother standing by the door, her hands still bloodied, but nonetheless she wore a tired smile.

“Yes?” Robin asked, standing up slowly.

“I was wondering if you could tell me-”

The sudden and loud knock on the door to the brothel stopped everyone in their tracks and all stared at the door as the pounding knock came again.  “Open up in there!” a French-accented voice shouted from the other side.

Kalilah immediately shut the door to the room where Janan and the other girls were located and the burly Saracen bouncer stood outside the door, his perpetual glare back on his face.  She then hurried over to the front entrance, hastily wiping her half bloodied hands on the back of her dress before smoothing her hair down.

Robin watched as she took a deep calming breath before opening the door, the soft smile of a brothel Mother back on her face.  “Welcome, how may I-”

“Some of the locals report two Crusaders, one escorting a young boy coming in here,” the lead Crusader replied brusquely before pushing Kalilah aside and stepping in.  “We are here-”

“To make sure I see William of Montferrat, am I correct?” Robin finished the French-accented Crusader's sentence smoothly, stepping up and arching an eyebrow at the small group of armed men who stormed into the brothel.

“Captain Locksley, I presume?” the Frenchman asked, irritated.

“Yes, and you are...?”

“Captain Armand LeBeaufort, Lord Montferrat's steward.  I am here to bring you in for questioning regarding the hindrance of an investigation into Grand Master Garnier de Naplouse's death.”

“Is that so?” Robin could see Armand holding the hilt of his sword, ready to draw if he made any sudden moves.  Or was it that they were sent by Maria to kill him?  Either way...

“We are also here to retake the prisoner-”

“You will not be doing that!” Kalilah suddenly spoke up, stepping forward, but immediately halted as Armand and the other Crusaders suddenly drew out their swords and pointed it at her, the burly Saracen bouncer who made a move to draw his own weapon, Robin, and even Much who had shoved Arno behind him to protect him.

“Know your place woman,” Armand hissed quietly as he leveled his sword at her throat, “this prisoner could be the assassin-”

“She is not the assassin,” Robin spoke up, bringing the Frenchman's blade towards his own throat, but he had stared down tougher and more intimidating enemies than a Crusader who thought to bully others.  “Come Captain, I shall explain my findings to William-”

“You will address him as Lord Montferrat-”

“ _William_ ,” Robin stressed, glaring at the Crusader, “he is of equal rank as I.”

“You are nothing-”

“I am Captain of the King's Private Guard.  Do you wish to contest this?” Robin let some of the anger he was feeling towards the Crusader bleed into his words.  He made sure all of the Crusaders found his emblem on his clothes for a few seconds before he immediately saw their gazes fall to the ground, except for the defiant Captain Armand.

“It does not matter, you and your manservant along with that _girl_ ,” Armand sneered, “will be coming with us.”

Robin immediately stepped in front of Armand as he made a move towards the door were Janan was still recovering.  “My manservant will stay here, to ensure the safety of this establishment and everyone inside.  The young woman _will_ stay here as she is an innocent in all of this.  I will come with you, Captain, peacefully,” he spoke levelly, “if you wish to countermand these orders and see to storming this place, word will be immediately sent out to the King himself of your defiance.”

Silence reigned in wake of his words as he and Armand stared at each other, the shorter man gauging him before he finally nodded once.  “Very well,” the French Crusader sneered, sheathing his sword before signaling the others to do the same, “shall we depart, _Captain_?”  He gestured towards the door as the other Crusaders parted to let him walk through, but Robin walked over to Much and whispered quietly in his ear.

“Get word to Carter.  I want to know what information he has on Maria Thorpe.  Also, tell Tomas to send a couple of the Guard's archers back to Acre to patrol the brothel's rooftop.”

“But Master-”

“If I do not return in a week, take Janan, Arno, and anyone else in this brothel to one of the refugee camps near Acre,” Robin said quietly, “Much, I need you to do this.”  He had no idea what was going to happen, especially if Maria did indeed tell William of his interference, but he needed a contingent plan to keep Janan and the others from reprisals.

Much nodded wordlessly, and Robin stepped away before heading out of the brothel, the soldiers forming a perimeter around him.  He did not look back as they headed out of the alleyway and back towards the main thoroughfare.  A cluster of soldiers marching in patrol formation was not an unusual sight so rarely any of the merchants or peasants paid much attention to them, but when they reached the gates of the Citadel, they were stopped by two guards with pikes in their hands.

“Captain Armand LeBeaufort,” Armand replied a bit smugly, “I am here to deliver a...guest...to Lord Montferrat.”

“He is expecting,” the guards parted and the group moved forward.  Robin was familiar with Richard's Citadel, having stayed there for a week before the King moved out to continue his campaign towards Jerusalem, but seeing so many guards, all dressed in the emblem of Richard, but not reporting directly to him was unnerving.  Richard allowed William, as his regent to wear his colors and it seemed that William had extended that courtesy to the men of the keep.

They arrived at an open air stone courtyard where a small table scattered with papers, weighed down with smooth stones, sat in a corner.  Opposite of the table was a small scaffold, a few beams of wood covering parts of the scaffold.  It seemed that they were still rebuilding parts of the keep.  Robin immediately spotted the regent, pacing back and forth, ranting at a few guards.  He looked around and saw Maria, standing by the corner of the courtyard, her hood up, arms crossed and mysteriously silent.

“My Lord, I have brought Captain Locksley as requested,” Armand said in a loud voice, stopping William mid-rant.

He gave them a look before turning to the two soldiers he had been yelling at and dismissed them with a wave of his hand.  He turned back to them and Robin stepped forward, brushing past Armand, bumping his shoulder none too gently before stopping in front of William.

“Regent,” he inclined his head slightly.

“Captain Locksley,” William nodded his greeting, “I received disturbing reports regarding your activity in the city and did not want to believe them, yet here you are.”

“Any disturbance has been caused by the Steward's men in the Hospitalier fortress,” Robin replied quietly, “I have only been listening to accounts since my arrival earlier this morning.”

“Ah, well, the Steward told me that you removed a vital witness from her investigation,” William replied, “Do you deny that?”

“No,” Robin was careful with his words as William paced slightly, “her men were torturing the woman for sport, not for questioning.”  He did not forget that this was the same man he had seen slaughtering all of the Saracen prisoners yesterday.

“Ah,” the regent stopped his pacing and pursed his lips slightly, “I would like to believe you, Captain, but I cannot condone any interference of the investigation at all.  I wish you to be my guest until this...misunderstanding can be cleared up.”

“Regent, I believe King Richard would be most displeased if such a thing were to happen,” Robin did not want to be stuck in a room at the Citadel under constant guard.

“But I was told that the King assigned the Grand Master to investigate Garnier's death,” William shrugged, “it seems inconsistent with my liege's orders to send two to investigate.”

Robin opened his mouth to say that he was told to investigate Garnier's death when he remembered Richard's words.

_“I give you leave to return to_ _Acre_ _.  Investigate Garnier's dealings.  Report back to me.”_

His King wanted to know Garnier's activities prior to the man's death, not why Garnier died.  It meant that Garnier's death was probably related to his dealings, and whatever they were, they intrigued King Richard enough for him to assign him the task.  Maybe he did tell Robert de Sable to investigate the death...which meant that perhaps Garnier's death was related to whatever Robert de Sable was involved in...  Robin cursed himself silently for not paying closer attention to his King's words.  His King wanted him to be discreet and he had declared it to Maria and to William, when he wasn't even supposed to investigate Garnier's death.

Garnier died for something, or did something that his King was suspicious about.  He had fumbled his investigation with this whole Janan business.  And now, he could not say anything without it being known.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he mentally berated himself as he finally nodded.

“I believe I may have acted in haste, Regent.  I would understand your need to verify my orders,” he knew his King would be furious with him when word reached him of Robin's brazen attempt to figure out who killed Garnier.  “I trust this would not take long?”

“No it would not,” William smiled, though it did not reach his eyes, “I will draft a letter of request to the King himself and hopefully expect a swift reply.”

“Then I shall await the King's answer,” Robin knew that it was the only response he could give without compromising his own mission further.  He did not know how his King would react to the letter, but pulling him back to the Private Guard and perhaps demoting him was probably his answer.

“Armand, please escort our guest to his quarters,” William ordered and Robin caught a flash of disappointment in Armand's eyes, but the man obeyed the regent's orders and gestured for Robin to follow him.  He had a feeling that the overzealous French Crusader was hoping he was thrown into the dungeons or worst, put in the stockades outside of the citadel.

Robin followed the man, knowing that he would have to somehow get word to Much to continue the investigation before King Richard's answer arrived and he was sent back to the front lines.  Things were not looking good.

                                    *                      *                      *

**Author’s Notes:**

            Historical notes say that King Richard was the one who ordered the massacre of the 2,700 Saracen prisoners captured when Acre fell into Crusader hands.  However, in _Assassin’s Creed_ , it was implied that William of Montferrat acted alone in doing this.  The key dialogue will be explored in the next part when Richard confronts William like he did in the game.  Due to the meshing of three different versions of histories, I’ve decided to make it as ambiguous as possible on whether or not Richard did order or William ordered the slaughter of the prisoners.

            This also ends up highlighting one of the darker aspects of the Crusade I wanted to draw readers attention to and how it ends up changing Robin into the person he was in the TV series.  Currently, he is still a bit ignorant on how some of the political aspects worked, so I hope it is expressed in the part that I just wrote.  Pretty much, the Crusades was much more brutal than what the creators of _Robin Hood_ had been showing on TV.  Such as it is, in fanfic, I can express that brutality (up to a certain point on the ratings mind you).  As this story progresses, there will be a lot darker aspects introduced.  For those of you who have read _The Assassin’s Gift_ , you may remember what I hinted at for Robin regarding Hadiya and her torture of him.  ^_^

            One more note before I leave you good folks to go write the next part; I had every intention of introducing Maria Thorpe, Robert de Sable’s steward in the game _Assassin’s Creed_ , a lot later in the story.  After playing through _Assassin’s Creed II_ while writing this part, I wanted to introduce her much earlier and build her into the woman that Altaïr ends up hunting (by accident) and into the woman that he will eventually marry and have children with.  ^_^  Sorry for spoiling that part of AC2 for those who haven’t finished the game.  I was also heavily influenced by the game and a Renaissance Faire I went to with my beta reader in mid-November – that was quite fun.

            As always, thank you for reading!  See you in my next part!


	3. Part 3: Assassin

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).

 

**Story:**

_Part 3 – Assassin_

 

Two weeks passed while Robin was a “guest” of William of Montferrat; he had been allowed to wander the grounds of the citadel, but was unable to leave.  In the two weeks, he had managed to get a message out, courtesy of Arno's timely arrival with the local supply of foodstuffs and materials used to help rebuild the citadel.  His latest orders had told Much to lay low and in turn had received word that Tomas had indeed sent a couple of archers to make sure the brothel was safe from reprisals.  However, there was no word on whether or not Carter had sent information regarding Maria Thorpe.

The knock to his quarters' door made him look up from his polishing of his longsword to see William standing by the door, a neutral expression on his face.

“What can I do for you, Regent?” in the two weeks he had been at the keep, he and William had not communicated much, mentally circling each other, wary of the other.

“I have received word that King Richard himself is arriving later this afternoon to oversee final troop preparations.  He has requested your presence when he arrives,” William said stiffly and Robin could see that the man was none too happy about releasing him from his virtual prison.

Why William had seemingly seen him as a threat to his power was puzzling, but he suspected that Maria had whispered falsehoods and lies to convince the regent to keep him in the citadel for as long as possible.  And probably also had delayed sending his inquiry to King Richard until the very last minute.  Now, it seemed that William had no choice but to release him unless he wanted to face Richard's wrath.

“Then I shall have to make preparations,” Robin got up, sheathing his sword and cleaning up his pack as best as he could, “I will have to go into the city itself...”

“Of course, I will let my men know that you are free to leave,” the regent looked like he would rather stab himself in the eye, but nonetheless inclined his head slightly and left, his cape swirling behind him.

The corner of Robin's lips curled up in a rueful smile.  Sometimes, it paid to be unfailing polite when someone was expecting rudeness.  And his politeness had managed to irritate William, which made him even more the happier.  He gathered up the rest of his weapons and strung his bow across his shoulder before heading out.  Going down a few stone steps and making a few turns, he headed out of the main gate of the citadel and into the bustling market thoroughfare of Acre.  Part of him wanted to take a deep breath of freedom, but he restrained himself, knowing that to do so, would probably not be good for his health.

Already the faint odor of rotted fish wafted from the nearby coastline and so he hurried towards the inner part of the city.  He headed towards the brothel, hoping Much had stayed put during his two week confinement, and arrived in short order.  The same burly Saracen was once again outside and looked surprised to see him before allowing him to enter with a slight wolfish smile on his face.

He was greeted once again with the perfumes and incense of the place and just beyond the light smoke of incense, was the sight that made the first real smile appeared on his face in a long time.  Much was sitting in one of the lounge chairs, hard at work, whittling away what looked like to be a small wooden horse.  It probably was not the most elegant horse he had ever whittled, but nonetheless a horse.

Next to him, also sitting on the lounge chair and happily playing with two other wooden figurines, two in the shape of people, a male and female, was a young girl, no older than perhaps eight, giggling as she pretended that her figurines talked to each other.    He cleared his throat slightly and both Much and the girl looked up.  Much's eyes widened in surprise before he dropped his knife and the horse he was working on.

“Master!” Robin was nearly knocked off of his feet at the enthusiastic and heartfelt embrace that Much gave him.  He slapped him gently on the back before releasing him.

“I trust you are well?” he asked, glad to see that Much was looking healthy, if not having dark circles under his eyes.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.  Have they treated you roughly?  Are you all right?  Let me get you some food, Master,” Much fussed over his clothes and Robin shook his head, batting Much’s hands away from his clothes.

“I’m fine, Much,” he said, knowing that he had worried his manservant greatly with his absence, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Much looked apprehensive, “I know you were in the King’s Citadel for two weeks and you may have-“

“ _Much_ ,” Robin emphasized his name, stopping him mid-babble, “William and I are of equal rank.  He would never harm me nor do anything to bring down the wrath of the King upon him.  I am fine.”

“O-Okay,” Much looked at him worriedly once more before giving him a hesitant smile, “welcome back Master.”

Robin grinned before glancing down at the young girl who was looking wide-eyed at him, no sign of fear in her eyes, “I didn’t know you entertained very young girls Much.”

His manservant blinked a bit at the implied meaning before blushing, “Master!  I wouldn’t-  She’s just-  I mean…”  He thrust the horse he had been whittling away at towards him, “I am carving her a horse, that’s all.  She’s one of the children who live in the neighborhood.”

Robin took the horse and examined it, noting the beginnings of a fine woodcraft.  “I see,” he still could not resist teasing his manservant, especially in light of his innocence and naivety.  Handing the horse to the girl who took it happily and scurried off to play with the other woodcarvings she had gotten.  He was about to say more when the light tinkling sound of bells made him look up to see Kalilah, the mother of the house descending down the steps, a broad smile on her face.

As it was her status in the brothel, she wore a dress with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination yet managed to make herself completely demure with a shawl wrapped artfully around her shoulders.  “Captain,” she greeted him with a kiss to his cheek before stepping back, “I am glad you have returned safely.  I am also thankful for the extra guards you have sent forth to protect my girls and this house from reprisals.”

“It was all I could do,” Robin bowed his head slightly in return, “how is Janan?”

“She is recovering,” Kalilah smiled sadly, “Arno has been by here every day to check on her progress.  Poor boy looked like he could use a friend.”

“Is he here?”

“No,” she shook her head, “he is currently attending to his duties at the stables by the gates.  If you would wait but a few hours, I am sure he would return to see Janan before retiring for the night.  My girls-“

“Thank you, but not at the moment,” Robin politely shook his head, “the King arrives today to meet with William of Montferrat.  I must attend to him.”

“Ah,” the woman said.

“I will keep the guard here as a preventive measure, but please let Janan know when she is better that I must question her,” he could see the disappointment in Kalilah’s eyes.  Whether or not the mother of the brothel had planned to seduce him to her bed was beyond him, but he wouldn’t put it past her to repay what she probably thought was a large favor.  With his rejection of her girls each time, he realized that he had given her the incentive that he wasn’t interested in any of her girls and was probably either interested in Janan or even her.

“As you wish, Captain,” the disappointment disappeared from her eyes before she bowed deeply to him, “I wish you safe journeys until Allah sees you fit to return.”

“ _Salaam_ , Kalilah,” he replied in Arabic, “peace be unto you.”

Turning to Much he was surprised to see him already grabbing his stuff and his own bow and arrow pack that he had left there waiting by the door.  He nodded once to his manservant before the two of them left the brothel, heading back out to the gates of Acre.

                                    *                      *                      *

It was a few hours later that Robin found himself on top of his horse, groomed and cared for by Arno in the stables, sitting by the gates of the Citadel.  Richard had gone inside for an unannounced tour of the Citadel instead of having just to talk with William.  He was not privy to the conversation, but he had a feeling that the main topic at hand was the slaughter of the Saracens over two weeks ago.  His liege had not asked to see him when he had arrived, but nonetheless Robin had found his King’s disapproving gaze upon him before he rode in to talk with William.

That had cut him to the core.  If there was one thing that kept him buoyed in this hellish Crusade was the approval of his King.  He knew his King trusted him greatly and he was privy to many secrets that not even the King’s own advisors would even know.  His King had also given him such latitude that to see that he had betrayed his King’s confidence by misinterpreting the orders he was given hurt him greatly.

Next to him was Much, decidedly uncomfortable on top of his horse.  It wasn’t because he was not used to riding a horse, but rather each time the King arrived, he always found himself by his Master’s horse, tending to it and holding its bridles, keeping the horse calm while they waited at parade rest.  Since they did not know if they were to be recalled to the front lines, Robin had Much mount his horse and stand by his side.

Suddenly the gates to the Citadel opened up and Robin straightened to attention as he saw King Richard trot out on top of his charger, William walking next to him.  The two had pinched expressions on their face as a crowd started to gather around, most citizens wanting a glimpse of the King.  Immediately the Citadel guards pushed the crowd back into a semi-circle around the gates of the keep.

Robin slid his horse to the side as Richard and William passed by his left side and watched the crowd, his bow and arrows ready at a moment’s notice, the entrance to the keep behind him.

“Three-thousand souls William.  I was told that they would be held as prisoners and used to barter for the release of our men!” the King paced his charger in a circle around William who crossed his arms across his chest and glared defiantly up at him.

“The Saracens would not have honored their end of the bargain.  You know this to be true; I did you a favor,” William shot back and Robin was surprised at the tone of the man’s voice.  Would his King really allow even his own Regent to speak to him this way?

However, he was even more surprised to hear a bark of derisive laughter from his King’s mouth before Richard glared at William from his horse, “Oh yes…a _great_ favor indeed.  Now our enemies would be but stronger in their convictions, fight that much harder.”

Robin watched as William grounded his teeth as the crowd grew larger, some of the peasants who had come over to see the commotion laughing quietly at the man’s unfortunate position.  He also noticed a few scholars had wandered by, and oddly, one in particular was staring at the proceedings with great interest.

There was something about the particular scholar that had seen amongst the crowd.  He couldn’t get a good look due to the sheer amount of people, but for a second thought that the scholar was focused on his King.  However, he tracked the man’s gaze again and saw that he was focused on William instead.  Did the scholars or perhaps this particular one want something to do with William?

“I know our enemies well,” William finally managed to ground out through his teeth, “they will not be emboldened, but filled with fear.”

Robin raised an eyebrow at the bold statement from William.  In the two weeks of his confinement to the Citadel, never once did he see William entertain any Saracens, not even the peasants from the city itself.  Bold statement indeed…

“Tell me,” his King sounded skeptical too of William’s words, but they were sharper, “how is it that you know our enemies’ intentions so well?  You would forsake the battlefield to play politics?”

“I did what was right, what was just-“

“You swore to uphold the work of God William!  But that is not what I see here,” the King shook his head sadly, “No, I see a man who’s trouble.”

The King’s statement made Robin frown slightly.  Did this mean that the King knew of William’s intention to massacre the Saracens?  But his King seemed to be distraught earlier with the slaughter of the prisoners.  Confusion filled Robin; did his King order the massacre of the Saracens then place the blame on William or was there different orders given to the Regent who decided to disregard those orders and deal with the prisoners themselves?  If that was the case then William was definitely treading a fine line of disobeying his King.

“Your words are most unkind, my liege,” William’s face looked pinched with anger and Robin glanced over to the mysterious scholar to see if there was any reaction, but he couldn’t quite tell from his vantage point.  “I would hope I would have earned your trust by now.”

Richard did not trust William?!  That was news to Robin.  But why would his King risk putting someone untrustworthy in charge of the largest port city and the one critical to bringing in supplies from Cyprus and other islands nearby?

“You are Acre’s regent William, set to rule in my stead.  How much more trust is required?” Richard growled out angrily, pacing his charger around William, making the crowd shrink back slightly lest be accidentally trampled, “Perhaps you would like my crown!”

“You miss the point!” if there was one thing Robin had to give the oily regent credit for was that he was bold enough to challenge their king.  However if William meant any harm…  He fingered an arrow on the back of his pack, ready in a moment’s notice to string it and shoot it deep into William’s heart.  Regent or not, that tone of voice was borderline disrespectful and if the regent made one false move against Richard…  “But this is nothing new…”

Richard snorted silently before stopping his charger and gave a steely look to his regent, “Much as I would like to waste the day trading words with you, I’ve a war to fight.  We’ll have to continue this another time.”

“Do not let me delay you then, Your Grace.”

Robin immediately understood his King’s orders and instead grabbed his reigns along with the rest of the Private Guard that had arrived with his retinue as Richard started off, parting the crowd easily with his charger’s sharp hooves.  He and the others followed quickly behind, so quick that he was almost unable to catch William’s parting shot to his King.

“I fear there will be no place for men like him in the new world…”

 He glanced behind him to see the crowd dispersing and William yelling at a few of his guards as he walked back into the Citadel.  He caught a flash of white robes amongst the crowd and frowned slightly, but knew that he could not investigate what he had seen.  His King came first…perhaps he would return back to Acre later on and retrace his steps.

                                    *                      *                      *

The King soon stopped at a small watering hole just a league away from Acre Robin and the others dismounted too to let their horses drink.  It was then that he allowed himself to greet the rest of the small unit of the Private Guard, Tomas included who had ridden with the King on his trip to Acre.  They too were glad to see him, slapping him good naturedly on the back before he excused himself to attend to the King.

Richard stood by his own charger, stroking its cheek affectionately as the horse drank greedily from the watering hole.

“Milord,” Robin announced himself and inclined his head slightly.  Traditionally he would have bowed and knelt on the ground until his King acknowledged him, but since they were out in the open and one did not know if Saladin’s men were about, he truncated the formalities lest put his King in grave danger.

“Captain Locksley,” his King still did not turn to face him and instead murmured something quietly into the charger’s ear, making the horse whicker a bit, “report.”

“ _White robed scholars were seen within the Hospitalier fortress before the Grand Master’s death.  A woman by the name of Janan who had anglicized her name to Jane to serve the men of the hospital in worldly pleasures may be a key witness to Garnier de Naplouse’s death_ ,” he said in French.

“ _And what happened to this woman?_ ” Robin was expecting the question from his King, but he still couldn’t stop the flush of shame filling his cheeks.  He could hear the disappointment in his King’s voice, directed at his own actions regarding Janan’s rescue.  He had long promised himself to state the facts and not cover his own inadequacies by hiding behind lies and would tell the King the truth of what happened.

“ _She had been severely beaten by the hands of the Knights Templar lead by Robert de Sable’s steward Maria Thorpe.  My manservant and I found her in such condition and I made the decision to rescue her from her captors.  Steward Thorpe told me that she could have been the assassin, but I believed her not to be.  I took her to the brothel she had originated from and put her in the care of the mother of that house.  Before you arrived milord, the mother of the house told me she was still recovering from her wounds._ ”

“ _And you would believe such a woman?  For all that you knew she could have been covering up for one of her girls’ actions.  This Janan, could have already escaped in the two weeks you were a guest of William’s_ ,” Richard finally looked at him and Robin adverted his gaze down to the ground, finding his King’s icy look harsh and unforgiving.

“ _Yes_ ,” he replied, “ _but I have reason to believe she was not the Grand Master’s assassin._ ”

“ _Oh?_ ” his King sounded doubtful, “ _and is it because this woman has captured your heart as so?  She has taken you to her bed?  Is this why you protect her Captain?_ ”

“ _Milord!_ ” Robin’s gaze shot up in protest, “ _no!  This is not true!  You know my heart has already been spoken-_ “

“ _Silence!_ ” Richard thundered harshly, shutting him up immediately as he looked back down to the ground in shame.  “ _Silence_ ,” his King repeated himself, but this time his tone was quieter and firmer, “ _these are the facts that have been posed to me when I spoke to Robert’s steward and William in_ _Acre_ _.  These are the disturbing rumors spread amongst the men in the Citadel of your loyalty to me._ ”

“ _Milord, I would never betray you_ ,” Robin automatically replied, still staring down at the ground.  His cheeks burned with shame, wondering how his King could believe such rumors.  He would have defended himself against such accusations, but he had vowed to only tell the truth to his King and not make him see his side.  If this was part of the punishment he was to receive for making such a mess in Acre then he would accept it.

“ _I do not need affirmation of your loyalty Captain_ ,” his King continued, “ _but the truth._ ”

Robin wanted to tell his King that he had told the truth, but he knew his words were insolent and would most likely get him into even more trouble.  He bit his lip, forcing himself to remain calm and finally lifts his head to stare up at his King, meeting his steely grey eyes with his own green ones.

“ _I have not had the chance to question Janan, milord.  I was told by the mother of the brothel that she was still recovering.  During my stay in the Citadel I told my manservant to stay hidden and ordered two members of the Private Guard to watch over the brothel for any reprisals from William._ ”

“ _And what would invite such reprisals?_ ”

“ _Because I had taken from the men in the Hospitalier fortress their amusement_ ,” Robin replied quietly, “ _because my first thought was to save a woman from harm and not give thought to the consequence or the potential that she could be the assassin that killed the Grand Master._ ”

He saw no hint of emotion behind his King’s expressionless face and while a greater part of him quailed at the fact that he was probably to be demoted and sent back to the front lines, his command of the Private Guard stripped from him.  All of his title and lands taken away from him, he still continued, determined to see the end through.  “ _Because it was my belief that though we are here in the name of God and for His Glory and his Holiness’ favor, we do not have to stoop to the levels of barbarians nor of Saladin and his horde’s actions._ ”

“ _And how is our actions any different than Salah al-Din’s?_ ” his King asked, his voice quiet.

“ _He would have killed pilgrims on their way to seek salvation in_ _Jerusalem_ _.  He would have sought the death of every single Christian who has pledged their life to God, calling them infidels and cursing their name_ ,” it was all by rote, what he had learned when they had first past through Rome with the Pope’s blessing for the Crusade, but over the four plus years he had been here, he had begun to lose faith in the words the Pope had said…begun to see that perhaps maybe they were truly the trespassers on a person’s land; violently ripping them from one owner to another.  He truly felt lost.

“ _Yet do you believe these words?_ ” Robin had found his gaze wandering while he spoke to his King and his eyes immediately sought out his King’s face once more, shocked.

“ _I…_ ”

“ _The truth, Captain_ ,” he King’s tone became steely and firm again.

“ _I…_ ” Robin blinked before grimacing and shook his head, “ _I do not know, milord._ ”

“ _Then_ ,” the King suddenly clapped a hand to his shoulder, making him look up at him in surprise, “ _I suggest you return to_ _Acre_ _and find the answer to that question._ ”

“ _M-Milord?!_ ” Robin was confused.  Did his King also believed what he had said?  Or was it something else?

“ _Continue your investigation Captain.  Report to me all that you find_ ,” his King shook his shoulder firmly.

“ _But…_ ” he was at a loss for words before immediately nodding and bowing his head, recognizing that he had just been given a second chance to make up for his past mistakes, “ _thank you milord._ ”

Richard nodded once before releasing his shoulder and mounting his charger.  Robin glanced at the others a bit away from them and saw them also mount up on their horses, Tomas tossing him a casual salute.  He briefly wondered if his second-in-command knew of what was going on or what was going to happen.  Did Tomas know that Richard wanted him to continue his investigation?  He returned the casual salute before stepping to the side as Richard spurred his charger forward, Tomas and the other members of the Private Guard that had accompanied him also mounting their horses and following him, creating a protective perimeter as they rode away, back to camp.

Robin watched as the dust from the thundering hooves faded away and glanced over to Much who was leading their two horses over, a look of apprehension on his face.  “Master?” Much asked hesitantly and Robin realized that he must have seen the earlier exchange and thought of the worst possibility, that they were discharged from the Private Guard.

While Much would never admit it, he knew that his manservant loved serving in the Private Guard, even though it was only in a servant and squire’s position.  He loved the camaraderie between the men and was devoted to the King’s welfare, almost as much as he was if he wasn’t his servant already.  To Much, the simplistic act of being discharged from the Private Guard would have little to no repercussions except of having the friendship and brotherhood he had established ripped away from him like a bloody scab over a wound.

“We’re heading back to Acre,” Robin grinned at Much who smiled hesitantly, still confused.

“Are we to leave?”

Robin pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side as he mounted his horse and his friend did the same, “Only if you want to.  I can arrange it so that you are on the smelliest boat to Cyprus.”

“Huh?” his intended crack at humor was lost on his manservant.

“Never mind,” he shook his head, “the King wants us to continue our investigation.”

“Oh!” a broad smile appeared on Much’s face, “that’s good, right?”

“Yes,” Robin replied, “and this time, I intended to find out who was really behind Garnier’s death and why he was killed.”

                                    *                      *                      *

They arrived back in Acre in short order and Robin dismounted his horse before bringing it into the city gates, nodding to the guards on patrol before heading over to the stables.  Dismounting, Robin looked around for the familiar face of Arno, wondering where the young stable hand had run off to.  It wasn’t like the scamp to leave his horses unattended, even though there were other stable boys around.

“Excuse me sir, do you want me to take care of your horses?” a young voice spoke up to his left and he turned to see another stable boy, looking at them expectantly.

“Thank you,” Robin dropped a coin into the young stable boy’s hand as he dismounted and handed him the reigns, “I would have thought Arno would be here…”

“Arno sir?” the stable boy shrugged, “he and the others took off to the Citadel.  Seems there’s a large commotion there.”

Robin narrowed his eyes, frowning.  Maybe Arno had heard that King Richard was here, but had already left so why would he still be there?  He glanced at Much as he also dismounted, and Much shrugged.

“Oy, Captain!” Arno suddenly called from across the stables and he turned to see the young man running towards them, his face red from exertion and he halted in front of them, taking deep breaths.

Robin offered him his waterskin bag and Arno drank from it greedily before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “The Citadel…” he coughed slightly as he choked a bit on the water still left on his lips, “they’re saying the Regent is dead!”

“What?!” Robin nearly dropped the waterskin as it was handed back to him and his gaze shot immediately to the distant spires of the Citadel.  “Arno are you sure?!”

“Yeah,” the boy nodded, “saw it with me own eyes.  Regent was lying on the ground, pool of blood around him, eyes not moving.  His guards are in a panic, saying something about catching the assassin or something.  One guy’s been ranting and raving that everyone in the city is a spy that they’re all gonna kill him for sure.”

“LeBeaufort,” Robin growled shaking his head, “he will slaughter innocents over this.”

“Master…”

“Much, grab your sword,” Robin ordered roughly as he grabbed his own sword from the saddle of his horse and strapped it onto his waist, not bothering to hide it under his clothes.

“What are you going to do?” Arno ran after them as Robin headed towards the Citadel, anger filling him at LeBeaufort’s rash actions.

“Stop him from making a mistake,” he growled out in reply, leaving Arno and the other stable boy behind.

He and Much arrived soon at the open space before the Citadel’s walls and immediately Robin saw that a crowd had gathered, but all of them were shouting and crying in fear.  He pushed and shoved his way past startled peasants and a few children before stopping before a ring of guards that had gathered to push the crowd back.  Beyond them was Captain Armand LeBeaufort, screaming and yelling, waving his bloodied sword around, scaring a few of the locals who were not fortunate to have the protection of the ring of guards around them.

“Let me pass,” Robin looked at two of the guards who immediately nodded and parted to let him and Much through.  He caught their momentary glances of relief and inwardly smiled.  They were hoping for someone to deal with the reckless Captain.

During his captivity within the Citadel he had gained the trust of some of the guards, a few of them recognizing him for who he was and the actions he had taken during the Crusade.  However, he knew that right now their friendship and respect did not mean anything unless the Frenchman was calmed down and he got the full explanation of what happened to William of Montferrat.

“-and all of you will be made to pay!  Do you hear me?!  You will pay with your blood for allowing this horrific act to happen!” Armand shouted as Robin approached, hands loose by his sides, his bow bouncing on its shoulder strap behind him.  However, he was ready at a moments notice if the French Crusader so much as tried to swing his sword at him.

The man circled around, waving his sword back and forth through the air, eyes bulging before in mid step spotted them and immediately pointed his sword tip at Robin who halted.  “You!”

Robin was silent, gauging the man to see if he would actually swing like a crazed mad man at him.

“You!” Armand sneered again, advancing forward a few steps, “how dare you show your face back here!  You swine!  You dog!  You son of a whore!”

Robin arched an eyebrow and rested his hand on the pommel of his longsword, “I will take your words under consideration, _Captain_.”  He emphasized the man’s rank, his voice a warning, “and put them aside for an explanation of your actions.”

“What actions?!  I am here,” Armand gestured wildly at the crowd and the soldiers gathered outside, “making sure those swine of assassins do not kill again!  We must search for them!”  He pointed back towards the keep, “They have struck at the heart of what was pure and just!  Lord Montferrat is dead!  DO YOU HEAR ME?!!!!  HE IS DEAD!”  Spittle flew from Armand’s mouth as he shouted towards the crowd, swinging his sword wildly, “AND YOU BASTARDS ALLOWED IT TO HAPPEN!  You allowed a damned scholar in and let his throat be slit!”

“Scholar?” Robin immediately seized on that fact.  This was the second reporting of white-robed scholars near the scene of an assassination and he wondered if whatever William’s dealings were, were they related to Garnier’s dealings that led to the Grand Master’s death?  His mind immediately picked out the white-robed scholar he had seen in the crowd, staring intently at William during King Richard’s public denouncement of the man’s actions towards the Saracen prisoners.

“Yes!!” Armand turned back to him, his face a mask of crazed rage, “you should be out there, looking for the assassin!  Kill every single scholar you see men!”  He turned and gestured wildly at the soldiers who looked torn between following his orders and looked at him as if to confirm those orders.  Armand noticed it too and immediately his fury grew.

“I am in charge here!  I am now Regent!  You will obey me!!” he screamed before turning to Robin, “I order you to search for the assassin!  Bring me his head and I will put it on a pike!  All those who pass will see this is what happens when one kills a messenger from God!”

“No,” Robin shook his head, bringing the Frenchman’s wrathful gaze upon him and he kept his hand firmly on the pommel of his sword.  He understood that this was a man overcome by his grief, the rage of such a loss driving him to madness.  This was a man who had lost his way and his goal of the Crusade, a man who had lost faith in God and would do anything to preserve his own inner twisted glory.  A man who was truly lost and consumed by the madness of the Crusade.

“I am Regent-“

“No,” Robin repeated himself, “you may be acting-Regent, Captain, but you are not Regent.”

“I am William of Montferrat’s second-in-command and you will obey my orders!!” Armand’s face grew redder and redder with rage and he lifted his hand up to strike with his sword.

“Put your weapon away, Captain.  I wish not to fight you,” Robin warned quietly, “if you challenge me, you challenge the authority bestowed upon me by King Richard himself.”

It was not exactly a true statement, but neither was it false.  It was instead, a not-so-subtle reminder to Armand LeBeaufort to whom he was dealing with; a man who far outranked him technically and was equal to William.  He saw the slight hesitation fill the French Crusader’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced with the mad grief once more and Armand gave an inarticulate cry before swinging his sword down at him.

Robin easily side-stepped the overhead blow and drew out his longsword in one smooth motion.  However, instead of holding the blade forward, ready to run LeBeaufort through, he instead made sure the flat of his blade was steady and immediately smashed it against the man’s stomach.

Armand’s body folded from the impact, crumpling to the ground as he expelled a force of air from the blow before falling hard, his sword clattering to the ground in a messy chord of metal against stone.  This time, Robin held the point under the man’s chin, forcing him to lay still and stare up at him, anger and fury still evident in his eyes.

“Cool your head Captain,” Robin shook his head before wordlessly gesturing to two of the soldiers to pick up him by his arms and restrain him.  They did so without a single word.

“Take him to his quarters and make sure he receives treatment for his wounds,” he had seen the bits of torn chain mail and armor and knew that Armand was probably one of the many who had fought the assassin after he had made his kill and tried to escape.  He suspected though, Armand was one of the lucky ones.  An assassin would never allow anyone else to live to see his work done and was probably making a hasty escape.

“As ordered Captain,” one of the men holding Armand replied before they forcibly marched the man back into the keep.  Robin let out a sigh of relief before sheathing his sword and gestured for all of the other men who were holding the perimeter around the citizenry of Acre to gather around him.

“I am only taking temporary command until the King sends for another Regent.  I presume a messenger has been sent out with the news?” he asked, looking around at the other Crusaders.

“No sir,” one of the men replied, “we were too busy with…this…”

“Then send one out right now.  The rest of you, gather into search parties and ask those who may be witness to the assassin’s actions to speak.  Do not,” he made sure that all of them heard the warning tone in his voice, “let any peasantry or any citizens in this city be harmed by your questioning.  We are not barbarians.  We are civilized men who will earn the respect of the populace not as their conquerors, but as their saviors.”

“Sir, what about the scholars?” another man spoke up.

“Send for the Mother Superior and Father Bishop.  We will ask them for any information they may have,” he replied and the men nodded before dispersing into small groups, many of their faces relieved at having something to do other than to be agitated into potentially harming the citizens in the city.

“Much,” he called to his manservant who immediately hurried over, “I want you to go to Kalilah and tell her that I need to question Janan immediately.”

Much nodded and without another word disappeared into the crowd.  Robin glanced out at the dispersing crowd of citizens wondering if the mysterious white-robed scholar he had seen earlier was now watching him.  He had a feeling that perhaps scholars weren’t involved at all, but rather they were assassins in disguise…  That thought chilled him as he realized that if that statement held true, then every scholar that passed by the King’s camp could be a potential assassin.

Shaking his head from his dark thoughts he gripped the pommel of his sword and hurried into the keep.  He needed to see William’s body for himself, needed to understand why this had happened.  But the lingering question remained, was William’s death connected to Garnier’s?  And if so…what were the implications of it?

                                    *                      *                      *

A couple more weeks had passed to no avail for Robin and his search for the truth behind Garnier’s actions.  He was now back in the King’s camp, ready to launch an offensive against one of the small towns that made up the city of Arsuf in the plains that were named for the city.  He had questioned Janan on her involvement with the Grand Master’s death and with information gathered from Arno, Much, and even the other guards was now sure that there was a definite connection between William and Garnier.  However, the surprising fact that he had discovered in recent days before he had been recalled was from the paranoid Germanic Grand Master of the Knights Teutonic, Sibrand.

Sibrand had been muttering how everyone was an enemy to him and that Robert de Sable was not there to protect him like he said he would.  The man had also rambled about how de Sable would get his comeuppance soon if he did not go through with his plans.  That had spurred Robin to question the Grand Master of the Knights Teutonic even further, but Sibrand had leapt up and shouted that he was a spy for the assassins and had immediately run away, fleeing towards the docks where his boats were responsible for bringing in most of the supplies for King Richard.

Robin was going to go after Sibrand to question him further, but a messenger had arrived from the King, ordering him back to the front lines to prepare for another assault.  He had briefly considered disobeying his King’s orders, but in the end, decided against it, knowing that his King would never forgive him like he did all those weeks ago when he had botched up his investigation of Garnier de Naplouse’s death.  So he and Much returned, saying brief farewells to Kalilah, Janan, and even the nice Saracen man who always sold them fresh hot local food at a discount whenever they were within the area.

Robin did not know who the King appointed at Regent to Acre with William’s death, but he hoped the man would rule fairly and treat the citizenry with respect.  He wanted to report his findings to the King, but when he and Much had arrived at campTomas had immediately informed them of the King’s intention to make one of the towns on the coast a fortifiable position and he had quickly changed into his chain mail armor before riding out to his position as the King’s protector.

After Acre had been taken, he knew his King had kept the men marching by the coast, the cavalry divisions of the Fifth Column and Robert’s forces making sure that the men were protected on the land side while their supply ships and warships protected the coastline from attack and keeping a direct supply line from Acre.

It was a brilliant move in Robin’s opinion as it kept at least some of the oppressive sweltering heat of August from beating too heavily down upon the men and animals.  It also forced Saladin to make small skirmish attacks, but none were too serious in recent weeks.  However, this time they needed a fortification before launching their main attack on Arsuf and this small town, still within the limits of Arsuf’s main city, but just a bit away for an excellent fortification provided the King with that opportunity.

But the heat was still oppressive and Robin could feel the dripping sweat beading down his face and body as he charged into battle.  Apparently it had also been too much for King Phillip of the French’s health and he and Leopold V of Austria had left within the two weeks of captivity he had endured in the Citadel.  However, Phillip had left his army behind and Richard had taken command of them.  Leopold left his German contingent, but it was under the mad Sibrand’s rule and the man had all but barricaded himself on his ships in recent days.

Apparently his King knew of this and instead drafted a letter of derision to Leopold thanking him for his contribution to the Crusade.  The dark humor was not lost on Robin, but right now, he forced himself to focus on the battle at hand.  He strung his bow, letting loose an arrow that lodged itself into the faceplate of a Saracen who toppled over a ledge and onto the ground.

Robin urged his horse to continue galloping alongside the King’s, his gaze sharp and watchful of any enemy archer who would try to shoot his King as he charged into battle.  A few members of the Private Guard also rode along side him, their bows drawn, also watchful of any enterprising archers.  He strung another arrow and let it fly, hitting a Saracen who had raised his pike up a few meters away.  The man toppled over, dead as they rushed past him, Richard yelling out orders and swung his sword downward, cutting the neck of another Saracen.

They headed into the thick of the battle, and Robin quickly hooked his bow upon the horn and drew out his broadsword.  He had traded it in favor of combat upon a horse, making it easier to kill the Saracens since his King was most likely to stay on his horse for this battle.  However, he always kept his longsword on his belt in case things went wrong.

A cry escaped from his lips as he and the other charged into battle, trampling over a couple of Saracens before Robin swung downward towards another one who tried to reach up and unseat him.  His blade cleaved through the man’s neck, spraying his saddle and left leg in a fountain of blood before he yanked on his horse’s reigns making it turn right as it slowed to a trot.  Turning, he slashed at another Saracen, pitching his body forward as a pike appeared out of nowhere to try to stab at his back before he reached behind him and slammed his sword into the wood of the pike, pushing it away.

He heeled his horse and gripped its reigns tight as it reared and kicked its legs out, knocking a few Saracens over.  Briefly glancing over to his King he saw that he was also dealing with a few of the Saracens that had tried to swarm them, but they were no match for his King’s blade.  A feral smile lit up the corner of his lips before he reached over and stabbed at the Saracen who was holding the pike and speared him straight into his chest.  The man screamed curses at him in Arabic before Robin withdrew his sword and ended the man’s curses with a wild swing, decapitating the man’s head from his body.

Hastily sheathing his sword, he drew his bow once more and fired arrows at the men surrounding his King, felling them one after another before the roar of more men arriving onto the battlefield made him look towards the rocky dunes to see the Fourth Column arriving, all of them bloodied from battle, but nonetheless they charged into the fray.  Robin fired a few more arrows towards the Saracens who tried to rally their forces and grinned as he saw one of his arrows embed itself into the head of the unit leader who fell over, the shout to his men dying on his lips.

The Fourth Column thundered in then, the cavalry unit and swordsmen unit rushing past the King and his Guard, charging after the Saracens and into the city with shouts of victory.

“Fifth Column, attack!” Carter’s distinctive shout roared across the battlefield and Robin saw the all cavalry column charging towards the eastern side of the town, driving the Saracens towards the docks of the small town as they were pressed and steered his horse towards his King, all of them watching as the Fourth and Fifth Column mopped up the stragglers.  Victory was theirs…

“Victory!” Richard shouted, raising his bloodied sword high up into the air and Robin and the others of the Private Guard and men around them all joined in with the cheer.  He felt the adrenaline and the enthusiasm at such a decisive blow to Saladin’s forces.

“Captain,” his King gestured for him to come closer and he did, heeling his horse to do so.

“What is your command milord?” he asked, still feeling a residue high from the just completed battle.  Around him he could hear the distant screams of the dying and wounded along with the cut off screams of the those who could not be saved or the Saracens who refused to give up and surrender.

“Take a small contingent and make sure the town is well secured,” his King ordered and Robin nodded, bowing his head slightly.

“As you command,” he replied before gesturing to a few of the Private Guard to follow him and a small group of nine others followed him, Much included, as they rode into the small town.

                                    *                      *                      *

In the couple of days following the battle, they had successfully pushed back two waves of Saladin’s forces and by the waning afternoon of the second day, he could feel his limbs deaden from exhaustion, his hands barely holding onto his broadsword as he scanned the area.

Tomas was nearby, shouting orders to the various survivors to clear the field of the bodies of those that fallen, piling them up to the side.  They would probably set fire to the bodies later since digging mass graves was a pointless task of wasting energy and manpower.  Next to him was Much, hunched over his breaths coming in great gasps.  He himself had already steadied his breathing through sheer force of will.  There was no need to panic the troops if they saw him as exhausted as he felt.  But he gently patted his manservant on the back.

“Take it easy Much…there will be more.  Conserve your energy,” he said gently.

“Yes – huff – Master,” Much nodded before uncorking his water bag and taking a long gulp before corking it back on and putting it within his bag hidden inside his cloak.

Robin walked the battlefield, occasionally helping some of his men up to their feet while Much handed them his water bag to take drinks.  He knew that a majority of the King’s commanders didn’t really associate themselves with the troops, but Robin did so because it reminded him that he still had a piece of humanity left in him and that it wasn’t stabbed away by all of the killings he had done.

“Bless you Captain, thank you,” a few of the troops called out as the water bag was passed around.

Robin just nodded at them, his eyes occasionally scanning the horizon and rubble filled streets of the town to make sure that no Saracen was going to ambush them.

“Master!  It’s Corin!” Much suddenly called out and Robin turned around to see one of their scouts, young Corin, heading towards him.  A few seconds later, the boy reached him.  “Milord!  The Third Guard!” he took a deep breath and shook his head, “They’re-“

“Slow down,” Robin placed a firm hand on Corin’s shoulder as he shook his head and took a few more deep breaths.

“They’re…you must stop them!  It’s…horrible!”

“What?  What’s horrible?” Much had come over and a few of the soldiers were beginning to look interested in the conversation.

“They’re pillaging the town…and beating the women and children,” Corin looked frightened and scared, “I tried to find the King and even Master Carter, but…”

Robin felt a pit of anger form inside of him.  If there was one thing that he didn’t like about the King’s forces was that a majority of them had no concept of dignity or of chivalry.  He had trained the King’s Guard not to do any of those things and some of men in the other Guards had also begun to follow his lead.  There was no need to further anger the Muslims or Jewish people in the area with their barbaric acts since they were already killing them.

“Tell Tomas I will be heading deeper into the town.  This has to stop,” he growled to Corin and the boy nodded before heading off to find his second-in-command.

“Master, surely you would take a contingent of men with you?” Much looked worriedly at him as they set off deeper into the rubble-filled town, side-stepping some of the bodies.

“I’m sure the Third Guard would be more than willing to kill anyone who tried to attack them.  I need to have a talk with their commander,” he set his jaw.  The Third Guard had been sent ahead to provide intelligence and a first strike offensive originally for Jaffa but in light of the recent attacks, they had been recalled to defend the main forces.  Robin heard rumors that the Third Guard were bloodthirsty, ruthless men and loved killing for fun.  He heard that they were drunk on the blood shed throughout the whole war and that they had turned into madmen.  Even so, it did not justify the pillaging of a town that had already been turned into mostly rubble, nor did it justify the torture and raping of helpless women and children.

He knew the area of that the Third Guard held and his predictions were right on the mark when he encountered a group of Crusaders pushing two children around; a young girl who was trying to protect her younger brother, the girl looking no more than eight-years-old.

“Excuse me!” he called out loudly, startling the soldiers.  The girl immediately took advantage of their momentary distraction and grabbed her brother’s hand and ran away.

“Oy!  Come back here!” one of the soldiers tried to swipe for them but missed and instead turned upon him and Much.  “You better have a good reason you bloody fool for interrupting our fun.”  All the other soldiers grinned at them in a menacing way but Robin just stared at them with icy cold green eyes.

“I wouldn’t consider it fun to push around and harm a young girl and her brother, would you?” he said in calm tone.

“Who the hell are you?” another one of the soldiers stepped up, completely towering over him.  “We’re the Third Guard!  A pea brain like you better show us some respect!”

“Excuse me-“ Robin held up a hand to silence Much who backed down, fuming.

“Uh…hey, Robert…I wouldn’t-“

“Shaddup!” the man towering over him named Robert shot back at one of the other soldiers.

“No, I’m serious Robert-“

“When I want your opinion, I’ll get it, okay Dennis?!”

“I would listen to your friend there, soldier,” Robin raised an eyebrow at Robert before glancing down at his own uniform which held an emblem, indicating what unit he was and what rank he held.

Robert also looked down at the same spot before his face turned as pale as a sheet and he backed up and dropped to one knee.

“Begging your forgiveness milord!” the tall man blubbered, “I mean no disrespect!”

“Where’s your commander?” he asked icily.

“Two buildings down on your right sire,” the man replied before Robin brushed passed him.

“I expect you lot to clean up your act!  Next time, the King will hear about it,” he called back as he made his way towards where the soldier had indicated the Third Guard’s commander was.

He found James lounging in opulence, surrounded by a few Saracen women and children whom he apparently had taken prisoner.  They were serving him with various foods, fanning him, and even massaging him.  A well of disgust filled Robin as he was stared at James who looked completely pleased with his surroundings.

“Ah, Robin, good to see you, come, want a date?” James indicated to a bowl of the food sitting next to him, held by a girl who looked no more than five.

“Has a perimeter been set up?” he asked quietly, ignoring the man’s question.

“Of course,” James shrugged before waving to his men milling about outside beyond the building he was in.  “They’re doing it.”

“And how are you helping the populace out?”

“You jest,” James smiled at him, “I am giving them something to do.”

“Serve you like slaves,” Robin shot back.

“They would do the same to us, if you haven’t noticed,” James replied, giving him a warning look that Robin completely ignored.

“We are not that barbaric!” he said loudly, startling a few of the women and children, “I would have thought that you’d be out, making sure that the King and the rest of our men are safe!”

“I seem to remember that,” James stood up, knocking over the girl who held the plate of dates in the process, “that was your job, you know, to protect the King.”

“Yours is the advance guard,” he replied, stepping closer so that they were almost nose to nose.

“Tread carefully Captain…you wouldn’t want an incident to happen do you?” James said in an icy tone.

“Incident?” Robin gave him a half menacing smile, “I would like to think that applies to you.”

“Oh, no…I mean for you, in battle.  It be a pity,” the commander of the Third Guard replied, letting the rest of his statement hang.

“I’ll be keeping an eye on you James,” Robin said before stepping back and turning to the women and children who were staring at the two of them.  “ _You’re all free to go.  Bury your husbands, your brothers, your sons, and your families.  Leave this town before sundown and you may survive.  Salah al-Din’s men will be back_ ,” he said in his best Arabic as possible.

Apparently his message got through as all of the Saracen people there stared at him for a second before running out of the room, some of the women chatting rapidly in Arabic to their children, ushering them along.  Robin pointedly stared at James, daring him to do anything, but the man just gave him a blank look.

Seeing that his work was done, he turned around and started to head back to the other side of the town and towards the King’s encampment.  Much was relieved to see him all right and immediately ushered him to his tent where he quickly cleaned off his blade and handed it back to him.  Robin splashed water on his face and scrubbed it roughly to get the blood and dirt caked on his face and hair off as much as possible before undoing the belt buckle to his broadsword and handing it to Much to sheath it.

He then left his tent and headed towards the King’s tent, nodding to Julian and Geoff who stood outside the tent flaps, their gazes sharp and wary.  They nodded back before he entered, seeing the familiar sight of his King staring at his map, the pieces representing his men scattered across the map.  “Milord,” he bowed deeply.

“Come, Robin,” his King acknowledged his bow with a crook of a finger and gestured for him to come closer continuing in French, “ _tell me, what news?_ ”

He knew his King was not asking about the status of the soldiers; that was information he could have easily gotten from his own Generals and suspected his King was instead, asking about his investigation.  “ _Garnier, William, and Sibrand all have a distinct connection to Robert de Sable through their dealings in_ _Acre_ _.  There was a connection between the patients the Grand Master treated in his fortress, a majority of them slaves brought in under Lord Montferrat’s watch.  I do not know the full details of Grand Master Sibrand’s plans, but I have reason to believe he was to ship these patients out once they were cured of their ailments to_ _Cyprus_ _, the Knights Templar stronghold._ ”

“ _Anything else?_ ”

“ _Yes milord_ ,” Robin replied, “ _there have been rumors of other prominent deaths in_ _Damascus_ _and_ _Jerusalem_ _, milord.  I do not know if there is a connection, but one does not look at such coincidences without an air of suspicion._ ”

“ _And what evidence supports this belief?_ ”

“ _My questioning of Janan, and of Kalilah, the mother of the brothel has told me that the deaths of these men in the cities happened either a few days before or after the deaths of the three in_ _Acre_ _.  Through other sources within the city, I have discovered that each of these assassinations have been linked to white-robed scholars._ ”

He looked at his King, hoping to gauge his reaction, “ _It is my personal belief that the scholars are not responsible for the deaths, but rather, the work of assassins disguised as scholars._ ”

“ _And how does this relate to Grand Master de Sable?_ ” his King did not even bat an eye.

“ _It is likely the Grand Master may be covering his trail by hiring assassins to kill these men.  With your discovery of his actions in_ _Jerusalem_ _it is my belief that he may have gone to Masyaf, the known stronghold of the Hashashin and hired their services out to kill the men.  He would have covered up this fact by claiming that he was attacked by them and lost men._ ”

“ _But why?_ ”

“ _This I do not know, milord, and cannot speculate_ ,” Robin shook his head.  This was one part of the mystery that still puzzled him.  He had no reason to believe that Carter wasn’t telling the truth, but there was still that niggling doubt about his friend.  After all, Carter was a Knights Templar and for all he knew, he could be in on the whole plot.

“ _And your conclusion?_ ” his King prompted.

Robin took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  Here was the moment that led to what he needed to tell his King.  “ _I believe that the Hashashin, the assassins that the Grand Master may have been colluding with, are deceptive and thus would take the opportunity to eliminate their own obstacles for their own goals.  I believe they may take advantage of the opportunity Robert de Sable has presented to them and assassinate you, milord._ ”

“ _And why would they do that?_ ” his King looked at him with his steely grey eyes.

“ _In their eyes, perhaps to attain peace and put an end to the bloodshed in the_ _Holy Land_ _.  They would not eliminate their fellow Saracen, Salah al-Din, so they would seek to eliminate the greatest threat to peace, you, milord_ ,” he replied quietly.

His King was silent for a moment before tilting his head slightly, “ _There is more you are not telling me, Captain?_ ”

“ _It is of my own opinion and of no consequence_ ,” Robin murmured.

“ _But you have spoken your opinion loudly and clearly just now_ ,” the corner of his King’s lips curled up in a slight wiry smile, “ _speak your mind, Robin of Locksley.  I value input from all of my advisors._ ”

“ _Milord_ ,” Robin nodded, slightly surprised that Richard even considered him, the Captain of his Private Guard an advisor, “ _There is another belief I hold concerning Robert de Sable.  I believe this may be his ultimate action, to assassinate you and seize control of the forces to do battle against Saladin and take_ _Jerusalem_ _as his victory prize to show to the Pope.  With King Phillip and Leopold’s departure, you are the remaining liege and lord left to continue the push in the Holy Lands and reclaim what is ours.  To do so would be honor and glory for those who follow you._

“ _Robert may have followed your orders, sire, but the actions of those he had allied himself with speak otherwise.  The defiance of William in slaughtering the Saracens speak loudly and indirectly.  The torture of civilians by Garnier is not one of honor_ ,” he finished, looking at Richard with a steady gaze.

Richard tapped his chin, contemplating his words before nodding once, “ _Your words do have the ring of truth and I believe you speak from your heart, however, I will consider your words and only that.  I cannot be jumping at my own shadows, doubting one of my greatest generals because of the actions of those who may be in collusion with him._ ”

“ _I understand, milord_ ,” Robin bowed his head slightly.  He knew that his words would be only taken in consideration by Richard.  It was his nature to do so and it was just that, just advice.  “ _I shall take my leave._ ”

“ _What for?_ ” his King arched an eyebrow, “ _I said I valued your input.  My Generals should be arriving soon.  You are to join them in planning our attack on Arsuf tomorrow._ ”

Robin blinked in surprise as he straightened and bowed deeply, “ _Thank you for this honor, Your Grace._ ”

                                    *                      *                      *

The next day found Robin standing with the rest of the Private Guard scattered across a small ridge and parapet built into the ridge, overseeing the beginnings of the battle to take Arsuf.  The town they had taken was part of a vast landscape that surrounded Arsuf and its neighboring towns and villages named the Arsuf Plains.  They had been attacked by a small scout force sent by Saladin to test their hold on the town they had captured and Robin had received a deep leg wound that nearly felled him if it was not for the perfectly timed arrow Tomas had shot to kill his attacker.

The wound was not too serious, but it had prevented him from sitting on top of a horse for long periods at the moment so he stood upon the parapet, surveying the battlefield with a carefully trained eye.  Hordes of men charging under the banner of Saladin’s colors covered the grassy plains, but he was glad to see their own men, led by the First and Third Column were steady before the charging mass.

“Fire!” Robin heard the command before the distant sounds of the trebuchets, two of them acquired from King Phillip’s departure, to add to the couple they already carried with them, launched their stone projectiles towards the charging horde.  The two that the King had acquired when Phillip left were aptly called “ _God’s Stone-Thrower_ ” and “ _Bad Neighbor_.”  Robin did not quite understand French humor in the last naming convention, but both had been used during their capture of Acre to great effect.

He watched as the boulders thrown smashed into the horde, killing many before rolling to a dead stop, digging trenches into the grassy plains.  Glancing down to his King he saw that Richard had a grim smile on his face before pointing to a few of the other men who relayed his silent message throughout the ranks.

“Halt!” one of the guards nearby suddenly shouted and Robin turned slightly to see the last person he had expected to see on a battlefield – a white-robed scholar.

“Hold your weapons, it is words I bring, not steel,” the man shouted in a heavily accented English as Robin fingered his bow, drawing the string taunt and notched with an arrow.  The rest of the Private Guard did the same and some of Robert de Sable’s men held their hands to the pommel of their sheathed swords.

On closer inspection Robin noticed that this was most definitely not a scholar.  His wide waistband carried numerous sharp little daggers and the hilt of what was probably a short sword was sheathed on his back.  By his side he carried a long slightly curved Saracen blade and he realized, this was the assassin that he had seen before William’s death, and the mysterious white-robed scholar that had been seen everywhere prior to the death of several important men.

“Milord,” Robin warned quietly as he saw his King step forward from his protective guard.  He quickly looked at de Sable and saw a feral smile on his face as he stood next to the King.  Did Robert de Sable really mean for the assassin to kill the King?  He pulled his bow tighter and was about to release the arrow when he saw his King hold up a hand, halting everyone from what they were doing.

“You offer terms of surrender then?  It’s about time,” his King sneered towards the assassin.

“You misunderstand,” the assassin replied quietly, “it is Al-Mualim who sends me, not Salah al-Din.”

Robin had heard whispers of the name of the leader of the Hashashin during his investigation.  It was a title given to the wisest and strongest of all of the assassins, but strangely enough, none spoke it out loud, as if it was a curse.  If what this assassin was saying was true…

“Then what is the meaning of this?  And be quick about it,” he King sounded fearless and Robin wondered if he was going to get the command to let loose an arrow upon this assassin’s heart.

“You have a traitor in your midst,” the assassin replied and Robin immediately stared at Robert.  His prediction was true!  Robert was the traitor!  He wanted to move the point of his arrow to Robert’s back, but a part of him cautioned against such a move.  Even if his suspicions about Robert were true, he still did not have the proof.

“And he has hired you to kill me?” Richard demanded, “Come to gloat about it before you strike?  I would not be taken so easily!”

 “It is not you that I’ve come to kill, it’s him,” the assassin growled dangerously, glaring straight at Robert.

“Speak then,” still the King wanted the truth out there, “that I may know the truth.”

The guards parted enough for the assassin to approach and Robin bit his teeth in an effort not to shoot the assassin down.  Here was the proof they needed, but if it was a trick, letting such a dangerous man approach, letting him near the King…

“Robert de Sable,” the assassin snarled, his accent coloring his words, but the name was clear enough and almost everyone, Robert’s lieutenants included, Carter amongst them, stepped away from Robert, leaving him alone.

“My lieutenant?” the King asked mildly.

“He seeks revenge,” the assassin sounded angry.

“That is not the way he tells me,” Robin realized that while he had provided information to the King in investigation, it also stood that Robert, as one of Richard’s generals would also provide information to him, and must have spun his own tail of what had happened in Masyaf and his supposed dealings with Garnier and William.  “He seeks revenge against the havoc you people wrought in Acre and Masyaf.  And I am inclined to support him.  Some of my best men were murdered by some of yours.”

“It was I who killed them and for good reason,” the assassin declared boldly and Robin was dumbfounded by the news.  One lone assassin killed all those men?!  But the assassin was not done speaking, “Hear me out.  William of Montferrat, he sought to use his soldiers and take Acre by force.  Garnier de Naplouse, he would use his skills to indoctrinate and control anyone by force.  Sibrand, he intended to block the ports, preventing your Kingdom by providing any aide.”

Sibrand was dead?  That was news to Robin, but in a way, he realized that it made sense as to why the Germanic man was completely delusional and paranoid before he had been recalled to the front lines.  But the picture this man had painted, so eerily like his own predictions…surely his King realized that Robert was really trying to take his crown and the glory of the Crusade?

“They’ve betrayed you and they took their orders from Robert,” the assassin finished.

Silence, punctuated by the cries of men still on the battlefield broke the air before Richard pursed his lips, “You expect me to believe this outlandish tale?”

“You knew these men,” was it his imagination or did the assassin look at him for a second before turning back to Richard, “better than I.  Are you truly surprised to learn of their ill intentions?”  Did the assassin know of his investigation into the deaths of Garnier and William?

Richard sighed, rubbing his eyebrow before turning to Robert, “Is this true?”

The Grand Master of the Knights Templar removed his helmet and bowed slightly, “My liege, it is an assassin that stands before us.  These creatures are masters of manipulation.  Of course it isn’t true.”  Of all the things that he hated about Robert and of all the things the man had said between the two of them for the past four years, Robin had to admit that Robert did have a point.  The Hashashin were masters of dissemination of information and manipulation.  Still…

“I have no reason to deceive,” this assassin, if he truly did kill all of those men, seemed adamant that he really believed the truth, that he did not come with the intention of killing the King and was bent on killing Robert instead.

“Oh but you do,” Robert taunted, “you are afraid of what will happen to your little fortress.  Can it withstand the combined might of the Saracen and Crusader army?”

“My concern is for the people of the Holy Land.  If I am to sacrifice myself for there to be peace, so be it,” the assassin brushed away Robert’s taunt and Robin caught Carter’s eye.

He saw his friend nod, confirming Robert’s words that he did indeed attack Masyaf and this indeed was one of their assassins from that fortress.

The King sighed loudly and emphatically before gesturing to both Robert and the assassin, “This is a strange place we find ourselves in.  Each of you accusing the other-“

“There really is no time for this!” Robert’s face looked pinched with anger, “I must be off to meet with-“

“Hold on a moment Robert,” the King stopped the Grand Master of the Knights Templar.

“Why?” Robert looked curiously at the King, “surely you do not intend to believe him?”

“It is a difficult decision,” the King looked around at everyone, even at Robin who caught his King’s powerful gaze, “one I cannot make alone.  I must leave it in the hands one wiser than I.”

Robert inclined his head, “Thank you.”

“No Robert, not you,” the King shook his head, waving a hand of dismissal at the Knights Templar.  “I will leave it to the Lord to decide.  Let this be decided by combat.  Surely God would side with the one whose cause is righteous.”

The King stepped back and Robin understood the meaning behind his words.  He knew of Robert’s betrayal, yet could not let him live without having the rest of the Knights Templar and the backbone of his cavalry forces turn against him.  However, he could not just let an assassin walk away with knowledge that he had gained from here.  So his King hoped that the two would be able to wound or kill each other, thereby proving whoever had won spoke the truth.

“So be it,” Robert slipped his helmet on before gesturing to the other Knights Templar to surround the assassin, “to arms assassin!”

Robin lowered his bow, gesturing to the rest of the Guard to do the same and signaled to Tomas to watch the proceedings from above while he headed down towards his King.  He caught glimpses of the carnage taking place and saw that Robert was in a heated discussion with Carter who had crossed his arms and shook his head, refusing to draw his sword or fight against the assassin.

“I am loyal to the King,” he caught the last of Carter’s words, “I will not throw my life just so you can have your ego satisfied.”

“How dare you-“

“My brothers may be inclined to sacrifice themselves for your sake, but I will not,” Carter replied firmly before Robert made a noise of frustration and stalked away, watching the grisly battle unfold as his men were meticulously slaughtered by the assassin.

The assassin had great skill Robin had to silently admire as he approached the King.  He had not drawn out his curved blade and instead, wielded his short sword, slicing flesh and spraying blood everywhere with each blow.  The ten Knights Templar that had tried to defend their leader’s honor fell to almost each blow the white-robed assassin made.

“ _Sire?_ ” he queried in French.

“ _If what you are saying is the truth, Lord Locksley, then Robert will die today and his schemes for overthrowing his lord and liege will be done for_ ,” Richard said in an even tone and Robin realized what his King meant by that.

His King believed so much in his own investigation that he was willing to risk Robert’s potential innocence and that fact by itself was enough to make Robin realize what he had really done.  His stomach curled inwardly in disgust, but he managed to keep his face impassive.  “ _Yes, sire._ ”

“I’ll deal with you myself!” Robert suddenly shouted just as the last of his men fell to the assassin’s short sword.

The assassin stood silently in the middle of the bloody carnage, some of the cries of the men still left alive with limbs strewn about, and sheathed his short sword before drawing out his long slightly curved Saracen blade.

Robert slashed at the assassin, but the white-robed man brought up his sword in a parry before punching the Crusader in the gut, sending him sprawling.  He angled his curved blade for a surgical kill but was blocked by Robert’s sword and stepped back as Robert picked himself up angrily before charging at him.

The blows they traded were hard and fierce and with each one, their arms shook from the effort, but it looked like neither of them was willing to give up.  Suddenly Robin saw the assassin faked a misstep and Robert fell straight into the ploy.  Just as suddenly, a hidden blade erupted from the folds of the assassin’s left bracer and rammed it straight into the man’s neck.  A spurt of blood, dark and oozing told him that the assassin won, but instead of letting Robert drop to the ground like a sack of oats, the assassin gently lowered Robert to the ground, whispering a few words to which the man chokingly replied before wiping a white feather across his neck.

When the assassin looked up again, silence reigned in the area once more.  Everyone, Robin included was shocked at the swift brutality of the battle.  He narrowed his eyes slightly as he saw the darkness in the man’s eyes.  Darkness and another emotion he could not quite identify.  He realized that it was the same darkness that he had within himself, the same one that had compelled him to tell the King of Robert’s possible plans.  He shuddered slightly as Richard stepped forward and talked with the assassin.

He did not really pay attention to their conversation until Richard stepped away and the assassin approached him.  He blinked in surprise before the assassin held out the white feather, dripped in the blood Robert de Sable.

“Your King told me you needed proof of Robert de Sable’s treason,” his accent was barely noticeable when he spoke, but the inflection of his English betrayed the fact that it was not his native language.

“How…”

“My brothers have been receiving reports of late that one of King Richard’s men was looking into the cause of Garnier de Naplouse’s death along with William of Montferrat’s death.  Seek your answers in Jerusalem,” he hefted the feather and Robin tentatively took it, the blood squishing against his fingers, still warm and sticky from its recent bath.

Robin opened his mouth; there were so many things he wanted to say but as he looked from the feather to the man’s darkly glittering eyes only one came to his mind.  “Why?”

“You, Robin of Locksley, are one of the few who seek the truth in a battlefield of lies;” the assassin replied quietly, “seek out the Rafik of Jerusalem, Malik Al-Sayf.

 “Tell him Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad sent you.”

                                    *                      *                      *

**Author’s Notes:**

            As I had said before William of Montferrat was technically supposed to be on Cyprus.  His son Conrad was supposed to be placed in charge of Acre before the city changed hands to the Germanic forces left by Leopold V of Austria.  King Phillip of France and Leopold V of Austria left the Holy Lands in early August.  I made it towards late August to match the timeframe and Phillip left a large contingent of his army behind to fight for Richard.  However, in the ensuing months, the French army dwindled due to lack of supplies and faith in the Crusade.  By the Battle of Arsuf, which occurred September 7, 1191, Richard was the only one of the original Crusade leaders left and it was only his presence that kept the Crusaders in the Holy Lands, fighting towards Jerusalem.

            A side note about Leopold V.  He was the successor to Frederick Barbossa’s forces which consisted of the Holy Roman Empire.  However Barbossa drowned midway through the voyage to the Holy Lands and Leopold succeeded him, bringing along his own Germanic contingent to supplement some of Barbossa’s men.  I plan to use Leopold’s departure in a later story within my Robin Hood Alternate Universe virtual Season 2.

            On the death of Robert de Sable – historical accounts state that Robert died in 1193 in the Holy Lands.  Obviously with _Assassin Creed’s_ crossover, this has been modified to September 7, 1191.  It also stated that the Knights Templars’ finest hour was during the Battle of Arsuf where the forces of Richard and Salah al-Din clashed in a pitched battle.  Richard’s forces struck a massive blow to Salah al-Din and drove him back to Jerusalem.

            Last but certainly not least, I would like to thank the readers and reviewers for keeping up with this story in its many twists and turns.  The next part will be featuring the beginnings of an alliance between Robin and Altaїr as depicted in my other story _The Assassin’s Gift_.

Thank you especially to AngelsShadow816 for your wonderful and heartfelt reviews and my beta Algae09 for reading this over and helping me with a few minor historical details that I couldn’t quite mash into this crossover.  **As of note, with the introduction of Altaїr, when Part 4 posts, I will be moving this over to the crossover section.  Please either author alert or bookmark this story if you do not remember to find it there!**   Thanks!


	4. Part 4: Parlay

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).  **Words in foreign languages (Arabic, French, and German) will be italicized throughout this story.**

 

**Story:**

_Part 4 – Parlay_

 

**_ Timeframe – September, 1191 _ **

 

The journey to Jerusalem was fraught with Saracen patrols everywhere, but by late afternoon, Robin and Much managed to enter the city, heavily disguised as pilgrims with cloths covering a majority of their faces.  They kept their heads down to disguise their eyes and with Robin’s passable Arabic, got passed the Saracen guards patrolling the gates of the city.

The majestic city was still a hustle and bustle, but Robin noticed a very heavy increase in guard patrols and many wounded still coming in from the battlefield.  He and Much had ridden around Salah al-Din’s main forces while the King drove the leader of the Saracen army back.  Originally Robin wanted to stay and continue the fight, but his King had ordered him to seek out the truth to de Sable’s betrayal with all haste and he realized that his King wanted the immediate proof to take control of the Knights Templar before they thought otherwise.

Now as he and Much headed deeper into the holy city, his first thought was not of the fact that he was in the grounds the Pope and all of Christendom considered sacred, but where was he to find this Rafiq of Jerusalem Malik Al-Sayf.

“It’s beautiful,” Much breathed quietly, staring around the lush green and brown hues of the surrounding countryside and even within the city.

“That it is,” Robin had to agree as he also surveyed their surroundings, thinking of the most likely places or people that would know the Rafiq.  He was pretty sure that Rafiq was a title for an assassin, most likely the leader of the assassins in the city or something.  However, seeing that the assassin that had given him the white feather was dressed in robes similar to scholars, finding the leader of the assassins here in Jerusalem was probably infinitely harder.  Any one person could be the Rafiq…

He drew out the feather, the blood almost dry and crusted over and turned it over in his hands, staring down at it.  He wished the mysterious Altaїr gave him more hints or at least a direction on how to find the Rafiq.  He had a feeling that going around and asking random peasants and shop owners Malik Al-Sayr’s name was probably not a good thing to do.  And asking the guards was out of the question considering that he and Much barely got past them and it was still under Saracen control.  Plus Altaїr had said nothing of Salah al-Din allied with the Hashashin so there was still that unknown quantity.

He had also brought up his concerns to the King that this Altaїr may have been setting them up for a trap and his King only replied that he needed proof of de Sable’s treachery and the assassin provided the most direct means of obtaining the proof.  Robin could not say anything else as he understood the double meaning of his King’s words.  If it was a trap to lure Richard away from his camp then Robin, doing his duty as the Captain of the Private Guard was to spring that trap before any harm came to the King.

But when he the assassin had talked to him, he sensed a kindred spirit, someone who was like him, someone who was sick and tired of the war, not of fighting against Salah al-Din, but of a different war.  Someone who had realized the folly of everything that was wrong in the world and strove to make a difference.  Maybe Altaїr was telling the truth, maybe he was not – that was up to Robin to find out.  For now, he gave the assassin the slight benefit of the doubt.

“Master, where do we start?” Much asked as he put the feather back into the folds of the robes they had acquired to look like pilgrims on a journey to Jerusalem.  Beneath the layers, Robin only carried a short sword and a couple of daggers.  Much did the same, the two of them not wanting to risk exposure with their bows and arrows and longswords.

“The best hub of information would near the middle of the city, where all of the districts intersect.  However, it could also be near the entrance of the city itself, for listening to traders ply their wares,” Robin murmured quietly before gesturing to Much to follow him, “we'll start by heading to the Dome of the Rock.”  He pointed to the golden dome of the temple that was a prominent landmark in the city.

Much silently nodded before they headed off towards the golden landmark.  The two of them kept their heads down whenever they past by a patrol of guards, but otherwise Robin made sure that he looked as relaxed as possible so not to draw any suspicion from the archers stationed on the roofs of the various buildings.  As they walked, he noticed that there seemed to be a lot of tension in the city, between the shop keepers and their strained voices to the hurrying of women carrying clay jars along with other merchants carrying crates and wares.

Even the men and women that talked with each other in little groups had hushed voices and more than one group of surly looking men stared deep into the crowd, cracking their knuckles in anticipation.  Of what, Robin did not know, but he thought he saw more than one of their gazes upon him and Much.

They were close to the Dome of the Rock when Much suddenly grabbed onto his arm tightly and he turned back to ask him what was wrong.  The words died on his lips as he saw the sharp glint of a dagger pointed straight at his manservant’s neck.  A man swathed in the local garb with only his eyes showing was holding the dagger and gesture wordlessly with his head to follow him.

Robin frowned but understood the man’s intent.  He spread his hands away from his body in the gesture that he had no weapons upon him before heading to a small alleyway in between vendor stalls where their mysterious assailant had gestured for them to head to.

Deep into the alleyway, Robin saw three other men blocking passage and halted before them, turning to see the man still holding Much whose eyes were wide with fear, but otherwise silent, box him in from behind.

“ _We are only here on pilgrimage_ ,” he said haltingly in Arabic, looking at the men warily.  He dared not risk a fight, even deep into the alleyway lest he and Much be exposed as Crusaders.  “ _Please let us be on our way._ ”

“You speak the words of our brothers, Crusader,” the man still holding the knife to Much’s throat replied in short heavily-accented English.

“ _I’m sorry, I do not understand what you are saying_ ,” Robin continued in Arabic.  If it was a ruse designed to expose him or Much as Crusaders or even Englishmen, then he would keep up his Arabic as long as he could without betraying him or his manservant to these thugs.  He shifted his feet, leaning his body more towards Much and the knife-wielding man but immediately halted as he saw the man’s eyes flash in a warning, having seen his attempt to move closer to try to disarm him.

One of the men in the outer ring muttered something quickly in Arabic that he could not quite catch, but it sent a murmur of snickering laughter through the other men only silenced by the one holding the dagger who glared at all of them.  “Your ruse will only fool the blindest of guards Crusader,” the man sneered at him, “why do you carry the feather of an eagle?”

Robin blinked in surprise as he wondered where did the man figure out he had the feather given to him by Altaїr until he wondered, perhaps this was Malik Al-Sayr, the Rafiq of Jerusalem?  But why would the Rafiq meet him like this?  It seemed too easy, too convenient.  But, the opportunity also seemed to be true so he decided to test it, hoping if by now the man did not slash Much’s throat, he would not do so until he and Much had explained why they were here.

“It was given to me by a friend,” he switched back to English, wincing inwardly at the term he used for Altaїr.  Calling an assassin friend was a long stretch.  He would have had a more descriptive term for him if it would not have probably insulted the rest of the Hashashin.

“Friend?” the man replied darkly, “name him and I may cut his throat.”

“Like you will do to my friend here?” Robin shot back, “you have named us Crusaders.  Why not kill us for all of the coins you can find on our purse and crow to everyone that you have killed two spies who have infiltrated Jerusalem?”

“Tenet one, stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent,” the man replied as if lecturing him before suddenly releasing Much and shoving him back towards Robin.

He barely caught his manservant before righting him and gave him a quick look to make sure he was fine before looking at the man.  He immediately noticed something odd before his gaze traveled down to the man’s left arm and noticed that it was a stump swathed in bandages.  The man glared at him icily before the flicking the sleeve of his robe to hide his arm.

“Malik Al-Sayr I presume?” Robin asked, still not quite trusting the man who had not even sheathed his dagger and instead seemed to idly play with it with his remaining hand.  Even the men around them still seemed tense.

“Who sent you?” the man did not even acknowledge the name, but Robin had a feeling that this was the Rafiq of Jerusalem.

“Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad,” Robin drew out the crusted bloodied feather once more and held it in front of the Rafiq, “he told me to give this to the Rafiq of Jerusalem with the words that I will find my answers in this city of Robert de Sable’s treachery.”

“Then the bastard is dead, good riddance,” the corners of the Rafiq’s lips quirked up in a feral smirk, “that idiot actually did something correctly, though I presume with you here, he still does not know the meaning of subtly.”

Robin knew that the Rafiq’s words were not exactly directed at him and probably more towards Altaїr, but he could not help but think that there was obviously some tension between the two.  He ignored it, deciding that the petty differences between members of the Hashashin were not his concern.  His concern was to find irrefutable proof of de Sable’s treachery for his King.

“Are there answers or not?” he asked, his patience wearing thin.

“Impatience gets you nowhere,” the Rafiq growled out dangerously before finally sheathing his dagger and grabbing the feather out of Robin’s hand, examining it quickly before tucking it into the folds of his robes, “seek your answers inside Solomon’s Temple, _Crusader_.  But do not presume that you are welcomed to the treasures of the land.”

“Do you really think I would stoop so low?” Robin did not like the Rafiq’s attitude, even though he sensed that the man or the men around him would not attack him for now.

“You are trespassers and invaders.  I know of your brutal, selfish ways.  You may have stayed my blade for now, but it is only because I have another matter of importance to attend to.  If we meet again, I will not be so kind,” Malik suddenly spun on his heel and stalked quickly out of the alleyway, his men following behind him.

“Him, I do not like,” Much grumbled behind him as he watched the dust settle to the ground from the Rafiq’s passing.

He shook his head in agreement before turning to his manservant, “Are you all right?”

“Fine, Master,” Much adjusted his head covering and patted himself lightly on the shoulders before nodding an affirmation to him.  Robin knew that Much would rather say he was fine even if he was bleeding if it meant that he continued on whatever task was at hand and gave Much a searching looking before turning around and heading back out of the alleyway and into the bright sunlit streets.

“The temple is inside the Dome of the Rock,” he murmured quietly to Much as they continued on their way keeping their heads mostly bowed, walking along with a group of pilgrims who were also headed to the inner sanctum of the Temple.  Robin did not know what he would find inside, but rumors of the Temple of Solomon hidden inside the mosque by Crusaders who came before them and even the Papacy claimed that Solomon’s sacred temple, holding the Ark of the Covenant and many other artefacts of Christianity were hidden deep under the current golden-domed temple.

He blinked his eyes a few times as they entered into the Dome of the Rock along with the mass of pilgrims, letting his vision adjust before nearly gasping out loud at the magnificence and beauty that was within.  The walls and interior were lined with little dots of mosaic that painted a beautiful colored work of lined art around him and Much.

He turned his head slightly, seeing the flowing language of Arabic written on some parts of the walls and vaguely recognized a few of the passages from the Qu’ran.

“Beautiful,” he heard Much whisper next to him and he nodded before forcing himself to look for anything that could be an entrance to hopefully the lower catacombs where they would find Solomon’s Temple.

He finally spotted what looked like an entrance, except it was guarded by two heavily armed Saracen soldiers.  Getting past those soldiers was going to be a problem.  He knew that a distraction in this crowd would probably work, but he also knew that if either he or Much were caught then the distraction would all for naught.  And he and Much shuffled along with the rest of the pilgrims, he tried to think of ways to get past the guards when suddenly a wild shout pierced the air.

“ _Thief get back here!_ ” the shout in Arabic thundered through the quiet murmur of pilgrims praying and worshipping in the Dome before the crowd suddenly scattered and Robin was nearly knocked off of his feet.

He caught himself and grabbed onto the back of Much’s cloak as he caught a glimpse of short brown hair and a pale face running through the crowd, pushing away the startled pilgrims.  The face looked oddly feminine and Robin felt his jaw drop as he recognized the face.  Maria?!  What was she doing here?

“Master that’s-“

Robin turned back as he saw the crowd part again, this time to let the two heavily armed Saracen soldiers through to help catch the fleeing Maria.  A part of him was torn to help a fellow Crusader, knowing that even though she had been antagonistic towards him in the past, she was still a Crusader in a city of hostiles.  But the other part of him told him that this was probably the only chance he would get to get deeper inside the temple and hopefully to Solomon’s Temple.

“Much,” he pulled his manservant by the back of his cloak and together they stumbled through the startled crowd before arriving at the entrance and quickly slipped into it, closing the heavy door behind them.

The dull roar of the crowd disappeared almost instantly when the door closed and Robin squinted into the dimly lit passageway before him.  Stairs led downwards, patches of the stairs lit with torches.  He briefly wondered if he should grab the torch next to him, but decided against it.  If the guards came back and checked what was behind the door only to find a torch missing, then they would know someone had slipped in.

“Is it safe down there?” Much asked apprehensively and Robin shrugged, giving him a faint grin.

“We shall see; do you want to lead?” he asked.

“No thank you,” Much shook his head and Robin laughed lightly, starting down the stairs.

It was slow going as they made their way deeper and deeper into the catacombs.  Sometimes Robin had to find purchase with his hands before stepping on another stone, his first attempt nearly made him slip only to grab thin air.  It was only because of Much’s timely grab onto his arm that he had not fallen into what looked like a very deep crevasse.  Finally they came upon a large cavernous room and Robin pulled his head wrap off as he stared at the intricate carvings and pillars across from where he stood.

Looking down towards the ground from his and Much’s vantage point he saw signs of a battle, not recent, but most definitely not old either.  At least two bodies dressed in the uniforms of Crusaders were sprawled on the ground.  There was a third body by what looked like a table, the man’s arm half hanging from the table.  The air here was dry enough that the bodies looked well preserved.

“Master, look, his robes,” Much had also spotted the man and Robin saw that indeed those were the white robes of on of the Hashashin.  Dried brown stains, blood, he realized, were splattered across the man’s chest and legs, indicating that he had died during whatever fight had happened here.

“Come on,” he gestured for Much to follow him as he climbed down the ladder and approached the body.  As he got closer, he noticed that the dead assassin was clutching onto something tight in his other hand, hugging it to his chest.  He saw that the assassin had stabbed a knife onto the wooden table top, his right hand clutching onto it in what was probably a last-ditch attempt to heave himself up to the table, but he had died from his efforts.

Robin noticed that a grim look of determination was still set in the assassin’s frozen dead face, his eyes still open and glaring fiercely into the dark underworld his soul now resided in.  He made a quick sign of the cross before reaching out and closing the assassin’s eyes.  “Rest now,” he murmured quietly before taking the object clutched against the assassin’s chest, grunting in effort as the body had been completely frozen in its death pose.

He finally managed to get the object out and was surprised to find that it was a book, no, a diary of sorts.  He flipped open the pages as out of the corner of his eye saw Much leaning down to the other two fallen Crusaders and close their eyes, whispering a few prayers to God.  There was no name in the passages, but Robin frowned as he recognized the wording of the passages, the same words that Robert de Sable had used when confronted by Altaїr.  He flipped to the last entry and his frown grew deeper.

 

_July 8, 1191_ _the Year of our Lord_

_Al Mualim has reported the find within the_ _Temple_ _and Tamir and his men have assured us that the way is clear.  I have examined this find and it is what the Templars and I are looking for.  It is the key to ending this war and the key to salvation.  My Brothers and I shall make use of it to make sure frivolous men like the one they call Lionhearted and that madman Salah al-Din would not fight anymore.  There would be order, peace, and control.  Our control would be absolute and in this paradise, this_ _Eden_ _that we sinners have so longed to see, we would see to it that it is complete._

_This Piece of_ _Eden_ _, as I shall call it, this Piece, will be our salvation.  May the Father of Understanding guide us._

 

It was the last entry in the journal and Robin suspected that perhaps the Hashashin had attacked Robert de Sable soon afterwards, judging by the fact that there was the body of an assassin and two Crusaders in the room.  He wondered why if this mysterious Al Mualim, the leader of the Hashashin, would report such a thing to de Sable only to attack him afterwards.  Maybe there was a conflicting difference of sorts?  He did not know and could only speculate, but the more important thing was this mysterious Piece of Eden.

Why would de Sable, a godless man like him, revere something akin to a trinket?  Did it have holy powers?  Did it come from the Ark of the Covenant?  The more important thing was had he used it in any way to influence the King himself to continue attacking Salah al-Din?  After all, it was clear proof in the pages of the de Sable’s diary that he held his King in contempt and had no love for the enemy either.

Hundreds of questions burned inside of Robin as he tried to sort it all out, but it left him even more confused than ever and he knew that he would not get his answers by standing in this arid place.  He had his irrevocable proof that Robert de Sable was indeed a traitor, written in the pages that he consorted with Saracens and fellow Crusaders like Garnier de Naplouse, William of Montferrat, and Sibrand.  It was even written that he plotted to bring the King down and perhaps kill him at the end should he had gone through with his plans.

“Master?” Much’s quiet voice echoed loudly in the cavernous space and he looked up from his thoughts to see his manservant standing near the bodies, having finished with his prayers for the dead.

“Proof,” he held up the diary before placing it within the folds of his robes, securing it tightly near his body.  He was not about to put it in his pack, in case they needed to abandon them or anything.

“That’s good, right?”

“Robert was a traitor,” Robin shook his head sadly, “that much is certain.  But that is about it.  The rest…”  He trailed off before giving his friend a quick smile, “well, we needn’t worry about the rest.”  He glanced around at the area once more before spotting a small hold in a mound of debris that had fallen, covering what looked like another entrance way.  “Hopefully that will lead us outside,” he pointed Much towards the hole as he rewrapped the cloth around his head once more, covering everything but his eyes and started to climb towards the hole.

“If you say so Master,” Much sounded doubtful, but also began his climb.

                                    *                      *                      *

It was at least several hours later and the sun had almost dipped to the horizon as Robin and Much emerged from the catacombs of Solomon’s Temple through an alternate exit.  Once they had gotten past the small hole, a room full of logs, crates, and half broken ladders, obviously a storage room long ago, greeted them and it had taken them a couple of hours and some tricky navigation to get through the obstacles.

They had immediately set off to the gates and slipped out unnoticed, and were now on their way back to the King’s camp.  It would be another day and half before they finally entered the King’s camp, finding many of the soldiers still wandering in from the battle, but a quick query from Corin who was resting after running messages back and forth to the various generals told him that Richard had won the overall battle and they were just mopping up stragglers.

Robin was cheered at the good news and headed immediately towards the King’s tent, after sending Much to attend to their horses.  He was surprised to see Tomas as one of the guards guarding the King’s tent and grinned.

“Robin!” Tomas called out, happy to see him back and shook his hand firmly, “good to see you back.  I trust you were successful?”

“More than that my friend,” Robin replied, “proof that de Sable and the other men that died in Acre were traitors.”

“May God damn all of them to Hell for betraying the King,” Tomas shook his head before glancing at the tent, “Carter is having an audience with the King, I do not know what about, but…”

“Probably for his promotion as the next head of the Knights Templar,” Robin shrugged, “I do not think the King will be troubled if I made my report to him.  Plus Carter was helpful during my investigation.”

“Ah,” Tomas smiled, “good luck and may I say something sir?”

“Speak?” Robin wondered what his second-in-command was going to say.

“Please take back the reigns of power from me.  As much as I love the Private Guard, the men…” Tomas shook his head wearily and Robin laughed lightly, clapping his friend and _leftenant_ on the shoulder.

“We shall see,” he replied before stepping into the tent.

Indeed Tomas was correct that Carter was quietly conversing with the King in French before he abruptly stopped mid-sentence as he stepped into the tent.  Robin didn’t catch what their conversation was, only a snippet of something about “protection”, but he did bow and drew out the diary from the folds of his robes, handing it to his King.

“ _I beg your pardon for the interruption, milord, but I could not wait to report this.  Robert de Sable kept a diary that was found in Solomon’s_ _Temple_ _in_ _Jerusalem_ _.  Its words are proof of his treachery_ ,” he said in French.

“ _I see_ ,” the King took the diary from his hand before flipping through some of the pages, a frown on his face, “ _and what can you tell me of your trip to_ _Jerusalem_ _?_ ”

“ _A Saracen stronghold milord_ ,” Robin stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back, “ _siege weapons may help us in the beginning, but I fear that we will need to bolster our ranks with more men if we were to take the city by force.  Solomon’s_ _Temple_ _is where scout and pilgrim reports have confirmed it to be, under the Dome of the Rock._ ”

“ _And the Ark of the Covenant?_ ”

“ _I was unable to venture further into the catacombs, milord.  Debris and evidence of a battle blocked many of the passageways_ ,” Robin replied quietly, “ _I found the bodies of two Crusaders and an assassin in the entrance to the temple._ ”

“ _Continue_ ,” Richard continued looking through the diary, his frown growing deeper.

“ _It is as Captain Tulane has told me_ ,” he gestured with his chin to Carter, “ _the last page of Robert’s diary indicates he had found an artefact within the_ _Temple_ _and which is why he went to_ _Jerusalem_ _after our victory at_ _Acre_ _.  I presume that this Al Mualim of the Hashashin must have ordered an attack of sorts and the Grand Master retaliated by attacking Masyaf._ ”

He saw the King flip to the last page and scan it quickly before looking up at him, “ _What is this…Piece of_ _Eden_ _?_ ”

“ _I do not know; sire_ ,” Robin shook his head, “ _there were no indications of the artefact where my manservant and I found the diary._ ”

“ _Do you know if the Hashashin have this…Piece of_ _Eden_ _?_ ” Richard turned to Carter who shook his head.

“ _I do not know, but the Grand- pardon me, but the traitor de Sable had been yelling about the Hashashin returning what was stolen from him_ ,” Carter replied, gritting his teeth, “ _I lost part of my unit to that madman’s idea of attacking their fortress._ ”

“ _Perhaps it may be within the Hashashin’s grasp_ ,” Richard set the diary down on top of his maps and paced back and forth, stroking his curly red beard, “ _this is…troubling._ ”

Both Robin and Carter stayed silent, knowing that the King would speak when he was ready to speak.

“ _If de Sable’s notes speak true, then this Piece of Eden may be a weapon of sorts that can be used against us_ ,” Richard stopped pacing and looked at Robin, “ _go to Masyaf, Captain Locksley.  You will offer the Hashashin terms of peace between us._ ”

“ _You do not want to retrieve the artefact?_ ” Robin was confused.

“ _No_ ,” Richard shook his head, “ _I do not want to do anything that can be construed as antagonistic towards the Hashashin, not after de Sable’s attack on the fortress._ ”

“ _Sire_ ,” Robin knew that Tomas would be disappointed not to be regulated to second-in-command once more, but he would not question the King’s orders or where Robin was being sent to.

“ _Captain Tulane_ ,” Richard turned to Carter, “ _you will accompany Captain Locksley and a few of his men to Masyaf as you know the layout.  Remember what we have talked about._ ”

Carter nodded before bowing and Robin wondered what he and the King had talked about, but decided that it was probably something related to Masyaf, and probably more along the lines of perhaps not allowing Carter to have his revenge against the Hashashin.  “ _As you wish, milord._ ”  He sketched another bow before heading out of the tent to ready his horse and supplies.

“ _When do I leave, milord?_ ” Robin asked, hoping for at least a day’s rest before he and Much set out again, but he had a feeling that Richard wanted this mission done as soon as possible.

Richard looked up at him and the corners of his lips pulled up into a sad smile, “ _I am sorry for this Captain, but I must ask you to depart immediately.  The very thought of the Hashashin, an order that we know next to nothing about, having a possible weapon that can be used against our own men is grave._ ”

“ _Then I shall depart with haste_ ,” Robin sketched a bow and made a move to head out of the King’s tent when Richard’s voice stopped him once more.

“ _Captain_ ,” he turned around once more and saw Richard looking at him with what looked like pride in his eyes, “ _thank you._ ”

“ _Milord!_ ” Robin was shocked before remembering to bow deeply, “ _I am greatly humbled by your praise._ ”

“ _That will be all_ ,” his King waved a hand at him, dismissing him and Robin stepped out of the tent once more, still shocked at the praise his King had given him. 

“You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Tomas’ off-hand comment startled Robin out of his shell-shocked state and he turned to stare at his second-in-command before shaking his head ruefully.

“King’s orders,” was the only thing he could say before Tomas sighed loudly.

“Be careful, Captain,” Tomas gave him a small smile, “and good luck.”

“Thank you,” Robin was grateful for the support even though the older man had such a long-suffering expression on his face that was only ruined by his smile.  He clapped Tomas on the shoulder once before heading to his tent to change into his chainmail and clothing, packing all of his weapons, bows, and arrows.  This time there was no need to hide under the guise of pilgrims.  This time they were who they were, Crusaders.

Except instead of conquest, they were to head out on a mission of peace.

                                    *                      *                      *

Robin, Much, Carter, and two of Private Guard that had accompanied them out for this mission rode for days to the Hashashin fortress of Masyaf.  They carried the banner of white, granting immunity from the small Saracen patrols they had encountered along their journey.

But even with the white flag of surrender, it had not been easy passing through the small villages that dotted the countryside.  For one, they were all watched very carefully by archers and patrols, the Saracens waiting for any misstep to shoot and kill them.  Even the men, women, and children of these villages had come out to stare at them as they rode past them.  A few of the children wanted to run and play around their horses, but were immediately either restrained by their parents or some of the Saracen soldiers who glared at them harshly.  Eventually the Saracen presence vanished and was replaced by similar looking guards, but in different uniforms who stared at them with even more suspicion.

“We’re in their land now,” Carter murmured quietly to him as they rode in silence, passing by a large tower that served as a lookout to the lands held by the Hashashin.

Robin noticed that many of the guards looked particularly skittish, some of them nervously glancing this way and that.  It was also then that he noticed a lot more of the soldiers were lying on the ground, dazed and even wounded.  Had a battle been recently fought here?  And if so, by whom?  He did not see any other uniform or identifying marks on the dead bodies that were scattered across the area as they continued on so then who had attacked the fabled assassins?

“I do not like this,” Eric, one of the more recent additions to the Private Guard, a good swordsman, muttered behind Robin, “they are not challenging us.”

“He’s right,” Robin turned slightly to see Carter frowning, staring at the soldiers who were looking at them, but seemed not to recognize who they were even though they all gripped their pikes, swords, and staffs in suspicion.

“Let’s keep going,” the uneasy feeling grew stronger in Robin, but he pushed it away and set his horse in a light trot, the others following behind him.

Over a few ridges and edges of a cliff that overlooked a beautiful grassy lake plain Robin finally saw the tall wooden gates of Masyaf and beyond that, the impressively large keep that sat above the rest of the town.

“Masyaf,” Carter said tonelessly, “home of the little rats called assassins.”

“Carter,” he looked at his friend, his tone a warning, “we are here for peace.  Do not take your revenge, not with so much at stake.”

The Captain of the Fifth Column snorted, making his horse dance slightly as they slowed down to a walk, “I’m not that stupid Locksley.”

Robin did not even deign his comment with a response and instead pulled on his horse’s reigns as a group of heavily armed soldiers approached their party, swords drawn out.

“Of course, you can tell that to the welcoming party too,” he heard his friend mutter mostly under his breath.

“Captain Robin of Locksley, emissary of King Richard.  I come in peace,” he announced loudly in English before repeating it in Arabic, halting most of the guards who stared at him in surprise before wariness colored their expressions once more.

“We do not deal with Crusaders,” one of the guards spoke up, his English harsh and heavily accented, “go back to your dog of a master-“

“How dare you-“

“Andrew!” Robin glared at the other member of the Private Guard that had accompanied them to Masyaf.  He had chosen the man for his experience in spotting trouble whenever it was not to be found, but Andrew always had a rather loud mouth.  It was an asset on the battlefield, making enemies enraged to the point where they would be blinded by rage, but in this case, he wondered if it was such a good idea to bring Andrew along.

“Sorry,” the apology was short and to the point as Andrew looked away, fuming.

“ _The King wishes to parlay a peace treaty with Al Mualim of the Hashashin_ ,” Robin started before pikes were suddenly shoved into his face and he nearly lost his seating on his horse from leaning back to avoid the sharp points.  “What-“

“Spies!  Traitors!  They are no more than puppets!” the same guard that had sneered at them now looked completely furious and cursed at them in Arabic.

“ _Wait-_ “

Robin never got to finish whatever he was about to say when he suddenly felt a blinding flash of pain across the back of his head and he slumped forward in his saddle, unconscious.

                                    *                      *                      *

The sharp pain to his gut was what woke Robin up once more and he instinctively curled inwardly, trying to protect himself.  Groaning a bit, he blinked his eyes open, but saw nothing but blackness.  For a frightful second, he thought he was blind and reached up with his hands only to feel a coarse rope on his wrists, binding them together in front of him.  It was then that he also felt that a cloth of sorts was tied tightly to his eyes and no amount of prying from his own fingers could even get the cloth away from his eyes.

Another sharp swift pain in the gut drew the breath from him and he gasped before rolling to his side, curling further.  He coughed, trying to find air and greedily grasped it, drawing in a shaky breath.

“M-Master?” Much’s plaintive cry came from somewhere to his left and he drew in another breath.

“Here,” he croaked out, hoping that whoever was kicking him was not going to kick him anymore.

“What are you doing to him?!” he heard Much wail before a few more thumps and a shuffling of movement then a gasping pain that sounded like Much’s voice made Robin tense in concern.

“ _Don’t hurt him!  He’s not a part of this!  He is only my manservant_ ,” he said roughly in Arabic before the shuffling noises stopped then someone pulled at his hair, making him wince as he felt himself being hauled upright.

“You are only a puppet, what do you know of pain?” a voice hissed near his ear and he smelled the hot acrid breath of stale wine on his cheek before he suddenly felt himself pitching forward then pain exploded across his face, eliciting a gasp of pain from him as he saw stars explode in front of his eyes.

Dizziness assaulted him as he rolled to the ground, trying to get his bearings, but with the cloth covering his vision and nothing but inky blackness in front of him, it was very hard and he could feel nausea rising within him.

He thought he heard muffled cries of either rage or anger, he couldn’t quite tell somewhere behind him, but with the ringing in his ears from the blow to his head, it was hard to concentrate.  He could feel the rough stone ground against his right cheek and sought its uneven surface as a purchase of sorts as he tried to calm his breathing, try to suppress the sudden nausea and pounding headache that he now had.  “ _I am here to parlay peace_ ,” talking helped a little as he sucked in quick breaths.  “ _King Richard wants peace-_ “

“ _He is nothing more than a puppet!_ ” the voice snarled once more and he found his head being dragged from the rough stones up into the air again.  “ _We will-_ “

“ _What is going on here?!_ ” another voice suddenly thundered above everyone else’s and Robin faintly recognized the voice.

“You!” he heard Much cry out before another scuffle, “please!  You know us!  You helped us back in Jerusalem-“  Much’s words were suddenly cut off by a gasp and Robin gritted his teeth.

“ _Stop it!  He is not a part of this!_ ” he directed his words he hoped at Much’s direction.

“ _Stop_ ,” he heard the command in Arabic from the thundering voice before another shuffle of feet then a quick smell of linen told him that whoever had gave the command was now standing in front of him.

“You should not have come here, Crusader,” the voice was definitely familiar and Robin swallowed.

“ _I came because the King believed peace could be achieved with the Hashashin, Malik Al-Sayr_ ,” he replied before he heard gasps all around him, “ _because the King wishes no quarrel with the Hashashin._ ”

“ _Too late_ ,” the person still holding him up by his hair snarled above him, “ _our brothers are dead because of your work Crusader!_ ”

Robin opened his mouth to deny any involvement when he realized that even if he tried to convince the assassins that it was not the King who ordered the attack on Masyaf but rather Robert de Sable working alone, they would not believe him.  It was as the King said, each one of them, whenever they struck out on their own, they represented the King and the glory of the Crusade.  He had tried to show the Saracens, Arabs, Palestinians, and Jews that lived in the places they had conquered that they were not the brutish men who had come from afar, but rather compassionate people who wanted no more than to see that the glory of God was returned to its rightful place.

Robert on the other hand, took his glory in the conquests and the strength and force in which he used it.  James of Atherstone took his by the brutal pleasures he found by enslaving the women and children to be his whores and slaves.  It was as Altaїr had said when he had confronted Robert, the men that served the King, Garnier, William, and Sibrand, were all corrupt in one way or another.

“ _The King sent me to parlay peace with Al Mualim, the leader of your order_ ,” he said quietly, hoping that his sincerity and somewhat familiarity with the Rafiq would help, but somehow, he doubted that.  “ _We have come-_ ” he ignored the painful tug of his hair, “ _-with the white flag of surrender._ ”

“ _Enough of this, we should cut his throat along with the others_ ,” the voice above him growled.

“ _I was told that you have been watching my investigation into the deaths of our men, our leaders.  I was given the opportunity to find out about Robert de Sable's treachery.  Why did you let me live then when you could have easily killed me?_ ” he sensed that he did not have too much time left to bargain and instead spoke quickly, “ _why?!_ ”

He felt his head jerk back, exposing his neck before a cool metal rested against his larynx and he involuntarily swallowed.  However, he did not feel the blade cut into his skin, or the razor sharp pain followed by warm hot blood running down his throat.  Instead, he felt the blade hover against his skin, unmoving and wondered what was going on.

“Let them go,” a soft Arabic-accented English voice spoke up quietly somewhere in front of Robin and he felt himself break out in sweat as he realized who the voice belonged to.  However, he dared not say the man's name in case it was a ruse.

“But-”

“Let them go now,” the warning was evident, even in English and the cool blade was lifted against his throat before he felt himself pitching forward, the grip on his hair and head suddenly released.

He managed to catch himself with his bound hands before his face could smash into the ground once more and pushed himself upright, or at least what he hoped was an upright position just as he felt hands in the back of his head, undoing the knot that tied the blindfold across his eyes.  His hands suddenly were unbound with a swift jerk before the blindfold over his eyes fell away and Robin blinked owlishly, trying to adjust his blurry vision.

His vision gradually straightened as he looked around him, seeing that he and his men were in a vast hall, surrounded by bookcases, statues, and many grim-looking assassins, some dressed in the traditional white garb he had seen on Altaїr, some dressed in guard uniforms or even ones that looked similar to Malik Al-Sayr's outfit.  Glancing back to make sure his men were all right, he noticed that unlike him, they had all been gagged, except for Much, and their hands bound in back of them.

He shook his head minutely at Carter who looked like he wanted to tear something apart out of sheer anger before finally turning back to the front where he saw Altaїr, standing on a few steps above the others, his face expressionless.  His hood was still up; covering most of his eyes, but it seemed that he commanded the other assassin's to release them.

He saw Malik walking over to Altaїr, a slightly angry expression on his face, but the assassin just held up his hands to ward him away.

“Thank you,” he slowly stood up and inclined his head towards the white-robed assassin.

“Al Mualim is dead,” Altaїr was blunt, “you may tell this to your King.  The Hashashin will have no further dealings with either Salah al-Din or Richard the Lionhearted.”

“We know you have the Piece of Eden!” Carter suddenly shouted out and Robin glared at his friend, shaking his head at his reckless action, however, his friend was not to be deterred.

Murmurs and mutterings swept across the room and Robin thought he saw Altaїr frown under his hood before tilting his head slightly to the side.  “Tell me, Crusader, what proof do you have?”

“I was with Robert de Sable when he attacked Masyaf,” Carter did not back down.

“Carter!” he hissed at his friend before stepping forward a step, “My apologies Altaїr, but my friend here had served the traitorous Grand Master of the Knights Templar, but wanted no part in the plot against the King himself.”

“I see,” the assassin walked forward, his dark gaze scrutinizing them before he stood with his hands clasped behind him.  However Robin had no doubt that the assassin was still prepared for any attack no matter how relaxed he seemed to look.  “How did you come by the knowledge of the Piece of Eden?”

“It exists?” Much breathed quietly, but not quietly enough as Altaїr flicked a look to him before turning back to between Robin and Carter.

“The answers that I sought out in Jerusalem were found in a diary beneath the catacombs of the Dome of the Rock in the Temple of Solomon.  One of your men was clutching it to his chest, protecting it to the end.  Robert de Sable's diary spoke of a brotherhood that consisted of Saracens, Crusaders, and even some members of the Hashashin who called themselves Templars,” Robin replied evenly, “the King thought it would be prudent to ally ourselves with the Al Mualim and the Hashashin to prevent anyone from using it.”

“You mean for you to steal it and bring it back to your heathen King,” Malik snapped, standing by the stairs, arms crossed angrily.

“No,” Robin shot him a quick look before focusing back on Altaїr who had stayed silent the whole time, “to make sure no one can use it.”

“ _Paltry words_ ,” another assassin sneered in Arabic.

“It is through my belief that this Piece of Eden, whatever it is, is a powerful weapon in the wrong hands.  Robert de Sable's diary spoke of control and of a new paradise where there would be no war.  However, if he were to force this, using this weapon, then the free will of the people will be forever lost and the forced peace would be nothing but an elaborate illusion,” Robin continued.

“You would rather see many more men, women, children, and villages burn then to have peace in the Holy Lands?” Altaїr asked him, his voice neutral.

“No,” Robin shook his head, “over my four years here, I have come to respect the culture and people that live here.  It is my hope that with the King's victory at Jerusalem that the city be open to all walks of life and faith.  That there is no one faith that can worship God there.  That everyone can come and see the majesty and beauty of the HolyCity.”

“And the King believes your words as well?” the assassin looked at him, a skeptical look in his dark eyes.

“Yes,” it was not quite the truth as he did not know what the King had in store, but he believed that his liege and lord would do the right thing.  After all, he had never seen any fault in the King.

The assassin in front of him stared at him for a few more seconds before he thought he saw his lips twitch up in a smirk, but it was too fast and too dark underneath Altaїr's hood to discern his expression.  However, whatever decision Altaїr made was not lost on Malik who stepped forward.

“Altaїr surely you're not-”

“You yourself named me leader of Masyaf.  Do you wish to take your words back?” Altaїr glanced back at Malik and Robin heard the distinct warning tone in the deadly assassin's voice, directed towards Malik, but also to the other assassins assembled in the room.

“No,” Malik stepped back, chastised, but still had an angry pinched look on his face.  Robin had a feeling that the two somehow had a history together and did not get along quite well.

“ _Take our_ guests,” Altaїr stressed the word in Arabic, “ _to the rooms on the eastern side._ ”  To them he addressed in English, “You will rest here tonight.”

“And tomorrow?” Robin felt a glimmer of hope at a potential peace treaty with the Hashashin through Altaїr who apparently was now the nominal leader of the Hashashin with Al Mualim dead.

“We shall see,” was all the white-robed assassin said before heading up the stairs, Malik and a few other assassin's following after him.

                                    *                      *                      *

“ _You would easily trust this Crusader over our own men?!_ ” Altaїr barely heard the restrained growl of anger in Malik’s tone as he entered his former Master’s study, intent on piecing together the information he had gotten from the Crusader named Robin of Locksley and Al Mualim’s notes.

He studiously avoided the small ornate chest that was sitting on one of the shelves of his Master’s study.  Inside it was the cause of all of this, the whole root of the problem and the object which the Crusader had surprisingly mentioned.  When he had directed the Crusader investigator to Jerusalem, he had thought Malik would be able to explain what he had found after Altaїr had requested his old friend to walk among the people who served the leaders he had killed.

Except it seemed that Malik had found more than whispers of Al Mualim’s treachery.  He had directed the Crusader investigator to de Sable’s diary.  Altaїr knew that his friend would have gone into the catacombs of Solomon’s Temple himself to retrieve the diary if not for one thing, the body in which the diary was found upon.  Malik did not want to disturb the peace and rest the body of his brother Kadar and instead sent the Crusader in; whether he was expecting Kadar to slay the Crusader in revenge he did not know for sure.

“ _Do you think so little of my trust Malik?_ ” Altaїr shot back at him, rounding the large table in the middle of the room and picking at a few of the books.  He knew his Master always kept a journal of sorts.  Each leader of the Hashashin kept logs.  Whether it was to pen their own thoughts or to write secret coded messages to the bureau leaders, there was no difference, but there had to be a mention of the Piece of Eden amongst the pages.

“ _I do not know what to think anymore since you have refused to destroy the cursed object!_ ” out of the corner of his eye; he could see his friend throw his hand up in frustration.  “ _You would keep the very thing that enslaved our Brothers and Sisters?!_ ”

“ _I would keep it to make sure no one else uses it_ ,” he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“ _Then why not destroy it?  For all we know these Crusaders are really here to steal the object.  What is to stop them from using it against the Hashashin once more?  To manipulate and control us?_ ”

Altaїr found a small bounded journal wedged in between a few books and took it out, gripping the spine tightly as he turned to face his friend.  “ _I will not be controlled again_ ,” he knew his friend had only witnessed part of his battle with Al Mualim, but the memories of being held hostage to that cursed and powerful object were very fresh in his mind.  Malik would never understand its true power, its dangerous power.  “ _And I do not think that the Crusader to whom King Richard entrusted an investigation to would steal the object._ ”

“ _Hah_ ,” Malik snorted in contempt waving his hand in a dismissal, “ _blind faith_.”

“ _No_ ,” Altaїr gave a ghost of a smile to his friend, “ _information.  The Rafiq of_ _Acre_ _and even local spies around the city have told me many stories of this Crusader, this Robin of Locksley._ ”

“ _He is only one man amongst such corruption!  He serves the man who has traitors and executioners of our Brothers and Sisters within his ranks!_ ”

“ _He is one man who truly understands that this war is pointless!_ ” Altaїr knew that the Crusader Robin had lied about whether or not King Richard would even consider peace in the Holy Lands at the expense of getting Jerusalem.  No, he had been taught and trained too well to understand that at the end of this Crusade by the foreigners, there would still always be war and strife in the lands.

However based on the reports he had received in Acre and even based on his own observations on the two occasions he had interacted with the Crusader, he knew deep down, the Crusader knew he was losing a war he could not win.  The war of faith.  When the King had directed him to the man in charge of the Acre investigations, he had seen the darkness within, the disillusionment and the hopelessness of the war.  Yet there was still blind faith, faith to his King, faith that every man, no matter how corrupt somehow had some good within him.

He had heard of William of Montferrat’s second-in-command ordering the Citadel’s soldiers to attack civilians, to slaughter and question scholars.  It had been all to find him as he made his escape and hid out in the Bureau, waiting for the opportune moment to slip away and head back to Masyaf.

He had stayed in Acre for three days following his assassination of William, and in those three days had ventured out to see that it was this man, this Crusader, who had taken power away from William’s second-in-command and use it honorably.  He had heard from the peasants and traders around him that Robin had directed no civilian be injured and that the scholars, priests, and sisters of the churches in Acre not be harmed when brought in for questioning.

When he had met the Crusader again, it was on the direction of King Richard and by then, he had heard more stories through his contacts and traders along the way of the man’s selfless acts, if only to preserve some shred of humanity in this senseless slaughter and bloodshed.  How he had even stood up to one of his own ranks in the town outside of Arsuf, telling the women and children to bury their dead brothers, fathers, and sons and to flee before Salah al-Din returned with reinforcements.

He knew anyone could have done that, but after he learned from the King himself who this man was, the Captain of the King’s Private Guard, essentially his bodyguard and commander of a group of men dedicated to give their life for the King to prevent any harm from befalling him; he knew that this particular Crusader was no ordinary man.

When he had been pleading his case to the King for Robert de Sable’s head, he had seen him standing upon a parapet with a number of men around him, all of them ready to shoot him if necessary.  He knew that Robin could have shot him while he had been explaining de Sable’s treachery, but he chose not to, to allow him to approach his King and continue his case.

Such compassion was rare towards an assassin or even an enemy.

And in that moment of introduction, he knew what made King Richard’s most loyal servant stand out from the others.  Robin may have lost faith in the war he was fighting, but he never lost faith in the King or in any person he trusted.  But that could have described any fanatic.  No, it was because Robin was one of the few people that Altaїr knew who was willing to learn from his enemies, from those that he conquered and fought with, his allies, and anyone he had met.

It was what made him so dangerous and at the same time worthy of the small measure of trust Altaїr was willing to extend to him.

But it was only to him.  Not to his manservant, most definitely not to the loud-mouth fair-haired Crusader, nor to the two others that came with him.  Only him.

Yet with the knowledge he would gain, Altaїr had never once seen him abuse it or abuse the power that came with it.  It seemed that Robin had no desire to dominate others, only to guide and lead them.  If he had been a Templar, he would have no doubt that it would have been Robin instead of Robert de Sable who pulled the strings of all the Templars around him, and the Piece of Eden would have been forever lost.

So he was willing to see how far he could trust this Robin of Locksley, to see how far he would go to make sure all of the Pieces of Eden were found and kept hidden from the Templars' schemes.

“ _You are willing to sacrifice all that we have fought for, just for stories and second-hand observations of this…man?_ ” Malik’s words brought him out of his thoughts and he looked sideways at his friend.

“ _Only a small measure_ ,” he shot back, “ _the Templars no doubt, will have known by now that they have failed.  They will try to find the other Pieces of_ _Eden_ _._ ”  He pointed at the ornate treasure chest, “ _The map from that Apple will guide us to get to the others before then._ ”

_“Temptation!  And we do not even know if half of these land masses exist!  You are playing a dangerous game, Altaїr_ ,” Malik warned, shaking his head, “ _the Imam in_ _Persia_ _will not be pleased-_ “

“ _The Imam do not need to know of this, only that Al Mualim has betrayed the Creed and brought ruin upon himself!_ ” Altaїr’s eyes flashed a warning to his friend, daring him to countermand his orders.  This was the true test of his leadership, of whether or not the most vocal of his opponents for his position as the nominal leader of the Masyaf Assassins would obey him.

“ _And would you do the same with this Piece of_ _Eden_ _?_ ” his friend hissed angrily and Altaїr sucked in a quick breath, trying to calm his anger before it got the better of him.

He narrowed his eyes at Malik who looked back, unafraid, willing to challenge him every step of the way.  Their relationship, soured many months ago by the death of Kadar in the catacombs of Solomon’s Temple had been temporarily repaired through all of the missions he had done in the Holy Land.  It had been culminated in his friend’s timely arrival when he had returned to Masyaf after killing Robert de Sable to confront his mentor and master Al Mualim.  But it seemed now in the aftermath of their previous leader’s death and his ascension Malik was constantly questioning him.

“ _I would use it as a way to study our enemies, to gain an advantage over them_ ,” he still had not fully explained what he had learned from Al Mualim about the Templars, but he knew that Malik also had his own information regarding their shadowy foe.

He saw his friend open his mouth once more before holding up a hand to stop him from speaking.  “ _And if I fall to the same temptations as our master once did, your blade will be the one to slay me._ ”

He saw the brief look of surprise flicker over his friend’s features before he closed his mouth and crossed his arms across his chest.  The two of them stared at each other for brief moment, engaged in a silent battle of wills before Malik was the first to look away, whether or not angry he could not tell.  “ _Then why involve this Crusader at all?_ ”

“ _Because he will be the one to find these Pieces for us_ ,” Altaїr replied.  He had no qualms about using Robin of Locksley to find the Pieces because he believed that the man would never use it for any corrupting purposes.  He on the other hand, knew that he was tempted to peer into the depths of the weapon that had corrupted his master; to glean information from it in their efforts to stop the Templars.  But it would not hurt him, he was sure of it, but he knew that the temptation was great.

“ _What is to stop him from bringing a Piece back to his King to use?_ ”

“ _Because we will tell him the truth and he will believe_ ,” he replied, the distaste of having to seemingly manipulate another person curled his stomach inwardly.  It sounded so much like one of his former master’s plans.  But it was the only way and he comforted himself on the fact that he was telling the truth.  Not holding back any information, just telling the truth and letting the Crusader decide from there.  “ _And I will be there during the search._ ”

“ _But the others-_ “

“ _You will lead in my stead when I am away on these missions_ ,” he cut his friend off and saw Malik snort lightly to cover his surprise.

“ _Do not think that I will hand back the power you have given me so easily_ ,” Malik muttered.

“ _I fully intend to fight you for that, my friend_ ,” he replied with a hint of a grin on his lips.

                                    *                      *                      *

**Author’s Notes:**

            During my research for the Hashashin, I’ve come to realize that most of the information on the internet (especially the various wikis out there) and in credible library sources including encyclopedias does not really have a cohesive amount of good solid information about the Hashashin.  It was like searching for the Illuminati – a lot of romanticized stuff and not enough facts.  So for the ranking system of the Hashashin, I’ve based it mostly on what the _Assassin’s Creed_ and _Assassin’s Creed II_ guide provided me with and a couple of encyclopedia entries I was able to find regarding the mysterious group.

            This also marks the first time the story has broken POV by having an Altaїr POV after having Robin’s POV for so long.  The rest of the story will continue in this fashion with alternating POVs since the introduction of Altaїr into _Solace of Silence_.  I will also incorporate more of the _Assassin’s Creed_ universe into the latter parts, especially _AC: Bloodlines_ , and knowledge gleaned from AC2.  However, since this is mainly Robin’s story, once again, no necessary knowledge of _Assassin’s Creed_ or its characters are needed to enjoy this story.

            As of this posting, I have this story planned out into eight parts.  Another disclaimer though, I do not plan to watch Ridley Scott’s _Robin Hood_ movie when it comes out in May nor have anything to do with it – as far as I am concerned, the BBC TV series is my definitive version of Robin Hood (barring the end of Season 2’s finale and Season 3’s WTF season).

And last but not least, thank you the readers once again for keeping with my story.


	5. Part 5: Allies

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).  **Words in foreign languages (Arabic, French, and German) will be italicized throughout this story.**

 

**Story:**

_Part 5 – Allies_

 

Robin let the cool stone walls in room they had been given for the night dull the pounding headache he had from the beating he had received earlier from the Hashashin before Malik and Altaїr had intervened and put a stop to the vicious acts.  Carter was pacing around the spacious room, weaving in and out of a few bookcases, his steps occasionally echoing on the stone ground or muffled by carpets.  A large table with some food adorned the middle of the room and Much was eating a piece of fruit.  Andrew and Eric were silently sitting on opposite corners, the two of them barely even looking at the books in the room.

Not that Robin expected men like those two to even know how to read.  They were peasants when they had been recruited to the King’s army.  Most of the Crusaders in the army did not know how to read and it was only commanders like him that knew how to read and write.  Still, he knew that it would be hard to translate many of the books in the small library.  For one thing, he did not know how to read Arabic, only speak it.

“Master?” Much’s voice made him open his eyes from his light dozing to see him hold up a piece of fruit.

“No thanks,” he shook his head.

“Hmph, may be poisoned,” Carter muttered from where he was pacing and Robin rolled his eyes at his friend’s statement just as Much stopped chewing and a horrified look crossed his face.

“He’s only joking,” Robin reassured his manservant who looked at him doubtfully before spitting out whatever he was eating onto a small plate.

“Or I’m deliberately making sure that it isn’t poisoned by watching you stuff your face first,” Carter smiled tightly, throwing a slightly wicked grin towards Much’s direction.

“Carter,” Robin warned, knowing that his friend took every opportunity, whether dire or not, to get under his manservant’s skin.

“No, no, I’m done, here, you can have some of the food,” Much hastily shoved his plate towards Carter who had stopped pacing and leaned against the table.

“Why thank you,” the Captain of the Fifth Column grabbed the uneaten fruit off of Much’s plate and deliberately chewed into it before walking away to pace once more.  Robin heard some muffled laughter from Andrew and Eric and sighed before leaning his head back against the stone wall, closing his eyes once more.

“Master are you all right?” Much asked and Robin kept his eyes closed, but his voice light.

If there was one thing he did not like was showing weakness in front of anyone and for Much to ask such a question in front of his men, he was determined to ignore the throbbing pain of his headache.  “Fine,” he replied lightly, “just tired.”  He understood his manservant’s concern and it touched him on rare occasion, but at the moment, it was inconvenient.

“Okay, good,” Much sounded happier at his answer and Robin smiled inwardly.  It was so easy to fool him at times-

“So do you really think Altaїr and the Assassins have the Piece of Eden?”

-and sometimes his manservant did not know when to shut up and let a conversation drop, Robin’s thoughts turned a bit sour as he kept his eyes closed.

“Captain, what is it that the assassin was talking about?” Andrew spoke up to his left.

“The Piece of Eden?”

“Yes sir, if you don’t mind me asking sir.”

“A weapon of sorts that the former Grand Master of the Knights Templar was looking to use to control this war.”

“But isn’t that a good thing?  I mean, we would have kicked those heathen Saracen asses long ago!” this time Eric spoke up, confused.

Robin felt his lips twitch up in a sad smile and shook his head, “We could have.  But imagine if you were ordered not to celebrate afterwards.  That you were ordered to kill children and babies because they may produce more heathen rebels afterwards.”

“That’s absurd-“

“And you could not fight it, no matter how much you force yourself to,” Robin rubbed his eyelids absently.  He had did not know the exact cause of what the Piece of Eden would do, but based on his observations and what he had read in de Sable’s diary, it seemed that the loss of free will was a major point in the former Grand Master’s plans to acquire the weapon.

The silence in wake of his words was great before a slight shuffling of feet and Eric’s voice spoke up again.  “I’m sure that whoever has the object-“

“Too much power to be trusted to one man,” Robin disagreed, “for all we know, the reason why Al Mualim, the fabled leader of the Hashashin could have died because he was corrupted by the Piece.  Or it could have overcame him and he was destroyed by the power.”

“But the Assassins…if they do have it; what’s to stop that Alta-whatever his name is, from using it against us?  I mean, maybe they kept us here so they can brainwash us and send us back to the King-“

“Eric!” Robin snapped his open his eyes and glared at the Private Guard member, “have a little faith!  If the Hashashin wanted to bend us to the Piece’s will they would have already done so!  No, I would think that they believed us to be controlled by the Piece already which was the reason for our capture. Altaїr released us because he believed we were not under the Piece’s influence nor were we working for Robert de Sable.”

“Still…” he saw a pained hesitation on the man’s face and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Eric, I would sooner kill myself or anyone else whom I deemed to be under the Piece of Eden’s influence.  I would sooner kill myself than betray the King.”

A brief hesitant smile flitted across Eric’s face before he nodded, “Yes sir, sorry sir…”

“Apology accepted,” Robin nodded before closing his eyes once more, “Now get some sleep, all of you.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Carter offered, having been silent throughout the whole exchange.  Robin cracked open an eye to see his friend walk over to the door, pulling a chair by it before sitting near the entrance.  He thought he saw his friend smile at him for a few second before resuming his watch and Robin closed his eye, settling back against the hard stone wall, trying to find some comfort before falling asleep.

                                    *                      *                      *

The startled shout followed by a gurgling scream woke Robin from his sleep and his first instinct was to draw his sword to which he did.  His blade was halfway out of its scabbard when his senses caught up to him and he realized he was still in the small library.  Another gurgling scream, roughly cut off made him glance at the door to see it wide open, torch light spilling into the room.

He scrabbled to his feet and hurried over to the open door, noting with concern that Much was lying face down on the stone floor.  Kneeling down next to his fallen manservant, he breathed a quick sign of relief, only finding that he had been knocked unconscious and was still breathing.

“Carter?” he stood back up as Carter approached, a harried look on his face.  He guessed that the man had been sleeping.  “Why did you not wake me for second watch?  Why Much?”

“He volunteered,” Carter replied shortly before glancing around the room, “Eric and Andrew are not here…”

“Which means…” Robin had a nasty feeling about this.  But why did Eric and Andrew break out of the room and knocked Much unconscious and why didn’t the two Private Guard members wake him or Carter up in the process?  When they had been escorted to their quarters for the night, they had been allowed to keep their weapons as a gesture of trust.

He and Carter dashed out of the room, following the shouts of the soldiers alerted to Andrew and Eric’s escape.  Turning a corner, Robin skidded to a halt as he came face to face with an irate Malik directing guards this way and that.

“You!” the Rafiq’s words were barely coherent under the heavy accent clouding his anger, but the unmistakable finger pointed at them made Robin pause, hand on the hilt of his sword.  “Trying to escape are we?!”

“What?”

He looked around him as several pike wielding soldiers approached, the spear tips pointed at them.  He heard Carter draw his sword out and he reluctantly pulled his own longsword out, holding it in front of him, shaking his head.

“ _We do not want to fight you, Malik_ ,” he warned, “ _we only want to know where our two other companions are._ ”

“ _Companions?!_ ” the man spat the word as if it was a curse, “ _your men are no more than traitors!  You come here with offerings of peace and leave with our Brothers’ throat slit!_ ”

“ _We did no such thing.  We were awakened by the commotion-_ “

“ _Do you deny that your men killed at least four of our Brothers?!_ ” Malik’s eyes blazed with fury and Robin took a small step back, looking around him at the advancing guards.

“Robin…” he heard Carter’s strained whisper and knew that his friend was close to attacking.

Something was horribly wrong, Robin knew that for sure, and it had something to do with Eric and Andrew’s escape.  Why would they all of the sudden kill the assassins when they were so close to settling peace between them?  He gritted his teeth before sheathing his sword heavily and raised his hands up.

“But-“

“Do it,” Robin shot a quick look behind him at Carter who shook his head, lips a thin line before also sheathing his sword and raised his hands up.

“ _We will not cause anymore bloodshed_ ,” Robin fixed Malik with a steely-eyed glare.

“ _Take them_ ,” the Rafiq gestured to the guards who raised their pikes and four guards approached them, one grabbing onto each of their arms before following Malik out of the main hall and into a spacious courtyard.

If it wasn’t for the dark of night or the dim lighting of the torches, he suspected that the beauty of the courtyard, overlooking what seemed like a small training circle, would have been beautiful.  However, it was now full of assassins, all of them slightly agitated and angry as he and Carter were marched down to the training circle.

The shout of someone saying Altaїr’s name made Robin squint into the darkness as he saw from a gated entrance that sloped downward the leader of the Hashashin walking towards their group, hand firmly on the shoulder of a heavily battered looking Eric.

“Eric!” Robin called out; making one of the guards holding his arm pull on it to silence him, but the man refused to look at him and kept his gaze straightforward and unseeing.

“ _Malik, we found another by the room_ ,” he heard a guard call from above in Arabic before glancing up to see two more guards walking down towards them, dragging a half conscious Much with them.

“Much,” he shook his head sadly as he saw with the torchlight bouncing shadows all over the places how much more battered his manservant’s face and body looked than what he had examined earlier.

“M-Master?” Much stumbled to his feet as he and the guards approached them and he shook his head.

“Don’t talk,” he could see the glazed look of confusion and the slight wince of pain as Much squeezed his eyes shut before blinking them open again.  He wanted to say more to his faithful manservant, but out of the corner of his eye saw Altaїr approach him, anger evident in his steps as a few guards stepped in to keep an eye on the sullen Eric.

“What friendship is this that you would take the blade I offer and plunge it into the backs of the Hashashin?” Altaїr growled out darkly, face inches from his own.  This close to him, Robin could see the unrestrained darkness inside of the assassin, the hint of betrayal, but most of all, the fury barely held back, giving him this one chance to explain himself or else find himself with a dagger stabbed deep into his heart.

“I swear I did not know,” Robin quickly explained, “Carter and I were awakened by the commotion outside and we found my manservant unconscious by the door.  My men were gone and we surrendered to Malik.”

“Lies,” Altaїr hissed.

“You know the truth!” his initial sense of trepidation was slowly replaced by a fuming anger, some of it directed at Altaїr, Malik, and the other assassins, some directed at himself, but most of it directed at Eric and Andrew for their actions.  “Let me talk with this man, let me find out what made him take the blade of friendship and betray it.”

“You would conspire with your ally here-“

“He is no ally of mine for betraying his Captain,” Robin replied heatedly, “he is no ally for betraying the order we were given by the King himself!”

“Empty words,” Altaїr suddenly grabbed left shoulder with his right hand and if it was possible pulled him closer before out of the corner of Robin’s eye he saw the assassin’s left arm rise up, the quiet _snickt_ of a small blade extending from the folds of his bracer-

Robin felt the point of the blade poking the right side of his neck, not quite piercing his skin, but hovering there with the barely restrained anger Altaїr definitely felt at the moment.  Any greater pressure on the blade and Robin knew that it would cut through his skin.  His eyes darted back to the assassin’s, realizing that his hesitation in killing him was deliberate, yet also a warning.

“One chance, to explain your actions,” the assassin’s voice was tight with fury before just as suddenly the blade retracted and Robin found himself stumbling towards Eric.

Robin caught himself as he straightened and stood in front of the battered man.  He noted with a critical eye that Eric was wounded, but seemed not to care about his wounds.  Shaking his head he deliberately stood in front of the man’s steady unseeing gaze, forcing him to stare at him even if he did not want to.  “What did you do?” he asked quietly.

Eric blinked once at him before looking elsewhere.

However Robin was not to be deterred by his man’s lack of response and moved himself again in front of Eric’s gaze.  “Answer me soldier.”

Another blink of his eyes before Robin thought he caught a twitch of Eric’s lips, the beginnings of a smile.  “You think this is funny?” he asked, keeping his voice level, but otherwise barely audible, “You and Andrew, broke out of the quarters we had been given for the night, killed four of the Hashashin, our allies-“

Robin caught the eye roll Eric had given him along with the snort of disdain and suddenly balled a fist before punching Eric in the face, feeling a flare of pain erupt on his knuckles as it made contact with the fellow Crusader’s jaw.  “What were you thinking?!” he barely kept the anger out of his voice, furious at how callous the member of the Private Guard was treating this.  Did he not understand how important this parlay of peace between the King’s forces and the Hashashin for the future of this Crusade?

“He wasn’t thinking,” Carter spoke up behind him and Robin looked at his friend who was still restrained by two assassins.  The others had even turned to stare at Carter, Altaїr included.  “He knew what was at stake…”

“Carter?” Robin’s breath hitched slightly, surely Carter was not in on whatever plan the two had for disrupting the parlay?  If Carter knew…Robin refused to think of the implications about his friend, refused to believe that even the person he had extended a large amount of trust to could betray him so badly.

“He knew,” Carter began, pinning Eric’s gaze to him as Robin looked back and forth between the two, “you knew, didn’t you?  Templar.”

He was confused by Carter’s words.  Did his friend mean to imply that Eric was part of the Knights Templar like he was?  But the way his friend spat ‘Templar’ out, cursing it, a dirty name of sorts.

“Tell me, Templar, when did Robert de Sable recruit you?” Carter continued, “When did he whisper the unimaginable powers to you?”

Robin felt like someone had clubbed him over the head as he quickly looked at Eric, stunned.  Young Eric was a Templar?  One of the members of the Private Guard was a Templar?  The same as Robert de Sable?  The same group that sought control of the Pieces of Eden, the same group in which Garnier de Naplouse, William of Montferrat, and Sibrand had all sought to usurp the King’s authority on the Crusade and to seize control of everyone through sheer force of will?

“Why?” Robin looked at Eric, unable to fathom why someone who had swore allegiance and life to the King would do such a thing to betray the King’s orders.  He had hand-picked most of the men of the Private Guard, from the different ranks and walks of life they had all come from.  From nobles like himself to mere peasants who would have been foot soldiers, cannon fodder against Salah al-Din’s armies.  The King had picked the rest, but Robin trusted him implicitly to pick the ones charged with protecting his life.

So then why would Eric, and even Andrew for that matter, choose to betray that?  Choose to become a Templar, one who sought control and suppression of free will in this world?  The answer was easy as he slowly realized why Eric and Andrew had done what they had done.  “The Piece of Eden…” he whispered before pinning Eric with a glare, “you and Andrew had orders to steal the Piece of Eden?!”

“The King threatens to shed the blood of our Brothers for naught but a fool’s errand,” Eric snarled at him before turning to look at the gathered Hashashin, “You may have thought you’ve won, but we will prevail!”

The quick cutting gesture from Altaїr was nearly missed by Robin, but apparently the two assassins holding Eric received the silent message as one suddenly plunged a small blade from the bracer of his arm into the chest.  Eric made a slight gurgling sound as his lips turned up in a tight bloody smile at him before the light went out of the man’s eyes and he fell limp against his captor’s restraints, dead.  A bitter taste welled up in Robin’s mouth as he saw the two assassins drag Eric’s body away.  How could he have been so blinded and fooled to not see even the King’s own personal guards working for Robert de Sable.

Andrew even had regular posting outside the King’s tent!  He could have killed the King if de Sable had ordered it done.  Dread filled Robin as he looked at Altaїr who was motioning to the other assassins to release Carter and Much, the latter of the two still stumbling slightly, but otherwise looked fine in the flickering torchlight.  “ _Has Andrew been captured?_ ”

“ _Several of my Brothers are in pursuit_ ,” Altaїr replied, not unkindly, but not kind either.

“I need to return to the King,” Robin realized the implications of the brotherhood of Templars that de Sable had belonged to.  If the names mentioned in his diary spoke of others, including Saracens and even the Hashashin then Andrew as a Templar would have the resources to hide from the pursuing men Altaїr had sent.  If there were more Templars within the King’s Camp, especially if de Sable led the Knights Templar, then any of them could possibly turn against the King.

If any of them had a Piece of Eden…

“Robin what are you-“

“The King, he may be in danger,” Robin roughly cut Carter off before glancing at Altaїr, “ _I apologize, but the King’s safety may have been compromised.  I must take leave immediately._ ”

He stole a look at Malik, wondering if the Rafiq was going to say anything about perhaps being traitors or in league with Andrew and Eric.  Perhaps even taking advantage of the momentary gain of trust in order to make their escape, but surprisingly Malik was silent, instead staring back down at Altaїr.

The leader of the Hashashin looked at him for a steady moment before nodding once.  “ _You are free to leave, but your manservant here will stay.  His injuries will be tended to._ ”

Robin fully understood the meaning behind Altaїr’s words, the gesture of trust mixed with the gesture of wariness.  Robin did not know the extent of Much’s injuries, but even if he questioned the leader of the Hashashin’s motives for keeping his manservant; it would only prove to the rest of the group that he did not trust them and would potentially ruin the parlay of peace between the King and the Hashashin.  Altaїr seemed willing to extend to him a small measure of trust, but to his men he made a show of keeping Much as a hostage, an insurance that Robin would return and not betray the Hashashin.

He knew that many others in his position would abandon their servants to the enemy or even in a town of hostiles, but he would never abandon Much.  Never abandon the one person that had stuck with him through his years in the Holy Land, the one he had grown up with in his youth.  And it seemed that Altaїr had picked up on that, knowing he could never leave Much behind and would be back for him no matter what happened.

The single added benefit to Robin was that he knew his manservant would not have to tarnish his innocence _when_ , not if, but _when_ Robin caught up with the traitor Andrew.  He would not be merciful to one who had betrayed the King so badly and it was something else Much did not need to see.

“ _Salaam, Altaїr_ ,” he spoke in Arabic, bowing his head slightly before hurrying past the other Assassins, heading beyond the gates and down towards the village, Carter behind him.

They arrived at the gates to Masyaf in short order, and apparently word of their arrival had spread fast as their horses were ready for them.  Robin thanked the stablemen who had taken care of their mounts before riding off, setting his horse on a fast gallop.  A part of him wanted to ask how Carter knew that Eric was a Templar, but pushed aside his questions as he focused on reaching the King before anything else could happen.

He hoped that he was not too late.

                                    *                      *                      *

Robin and Carter rode for three days straight, stopping only to rest a couple of hours and to let the horses water and feed before continuing on.  He knew his horse was overspent, white flecks of sweat covering the neck of his horse, but still his steed gave every ounce of its strength to get its master to his destination, sensing the inherent urgency.

Through their journey back, they had not encountered any sign of the Hashashin sent by Altaїr to pursue Andrew and Robin had taken it to mean that there were definitely more Templar allies in the villages that helped their fellow Templar escape pursuit.  Whether the men were dead or not, he did not know, but could not dwell on it as first and foremost was the King’s assured safety.

The two of them thundered into camp, startling some of the other soldiers who had tents on the outskirts.  Robin drew his bow and notched an arrow, heeling his horse to gallop to the King’s tent, all the while on the look out for any sign of Andrew.  A part of him wondered if the man was addled-brained enough to come back to camp, but another part of him worried that Andrew did come back to camp to report their supposed deaths.

He had no doubt now in the three-day ride that Andrew and Eric had meant for him, Carter, and Much to be caught and executed by the Hashashin, buying the two men time to escape.  He now understood Eric’s stony look when he had been captured by the Hashashin.  Eric wanted to die, was prepared to sacrifice his life so Andrew would be able to escape and tell the others that the Hashashin did indeed have the Piece of Eden or even to spread lies and rumors of the demise of the Captain of the Private Guard and the Captain of the Fifth Column.

“There!” Carter shouted behind him and Robin looked to where he was pointing to see Andrew, limping slightly, but still running at a fast jog towards the King’s tent.  In the distance he saw Tomas and a couple of the other members of the Private Guard standing at attention a distance away, but began to notice the thundering of hooves from his ride in.

The shot was an easy fifty meters Robin inwardly calculated as he drew back on his bow, his aim steady through the swaying motion of his horse, still navigating through tents and scattered people.  Letting the arrow fly, his mark was true as Andrew suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground, the arrow embedded deep into his shoulder.  Robin notched another arrow and let it fly, hitting Andrew in the back of his thigh this time as he and Carter drew closer.

The gap closed and Robin swung off of his horse’s saddle, closing the gap between him and Andrew in a quick pace, shouldering his bow as he kicked up some sand.  He could see Tomas and the other members of the Private Guard along with a few other curious soldiers approaching them, swords drawn out, bows notched.

However Robin ignored all of that as he hauled the still crawling man up by the front of his chainmail.  “You thought you could get away traitor?!” he shouted, his fury unleashed in full force as he glared at Andrew, not caring for the obvious pain the man felt from his wounds.

“S-Sir-“

“You do not deserve the right, _traitor_ ,” he emphasized the contempt he felt for the Templar, “you are no better than the Templar dogs you serve!”

“Robin-“

“Shut up Tomas,” he glared at his second-in-command who had approached him, arm outstretched, before turning back to Andrew, shoving him into the nearest tent pole that had been set up, making him yelp out in pain as the arrows embedded themselves further into his body.

“This man is a traitor to the King, come to spread lies of our untimely demise at the hands of the Hashashin, aren’t you, traitor?” he shook Andrew slightly, making him wince, but Robin smiled ruthlessly, “Well you can tell your masters with your dead body that their plan in obtaining the Piece of Eden or even our demise was for naught!  You can tell them that you failed in killing the King.”

He drew out the small dagger he kept in the sole of his right boot, noting to his savage delight that Andrew’s eyes had widened in fear, his eyes darting from the blade to his face, his body trembling in dread.  “Please…C-Captain…”

“Too late,” Robin growled out, the knife poised to slash across the man’s neck.

“S-Sir-“

“Is this the traitor?” the King’s grave tone startled Robin and he glanced quickly at his King who had stepped out of his tent, and was staring at them, his gaze impassive and cold.

“Yes milord,” Robin replied, “I was about to execute him-“

“We would like to question him if you do not mind, Captain,” the King’s tone was simple but frigid enough that Robin felt the knife slipping out of his fingers.  He heard the underlying disappointment, directed at him beneath the frigidity.

“Milord-“

“ _Now_ , Captain,” his King emphasized, his French accented English heavy.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Robin released his hold on Andrew, letting him unceremoniously drop to the ground.  He heard the cry of pain from the man, but resolutely ignored it, and instead kept his head down as he faced the King.

“Robin!”

Tomas’ warning was little too late as out of the corner of Robin’s eyes, he saw a flash of silver light, the glint of a blade coming towards him-

Just as suddenly he was shoved to the side, and Robin stumbled before turning in time to see Carter expertly disarm Andrew who had taken his fallen blade and had tried to stab him with it.  Two more of the Private Guard advanced forward and immediately restrained Andrew into the sandy ground.  Looking at his friend he saw him extend his hand, the hilt of the knife pointed towards him.

“You dropped your knife,” his friend said in a neutral tone and Robin took it without a word, more angry with himself for being so careless than thankful that Carter saved his life.

“Captain, please see to your steed.  I will send for you,” the King said as Robin sheathed his knife once more before turning and sketched a low bow to his King.  He understood that his King had been disappointed in his actions and this was his punishment.

“Milord,” he replied and not meeting any of the others’ gazes, he departed from the small gathering, brushing roughly past young Corin, who had opened his mouth as if to say something to him.

He grabbed the reigns of his horse and led the animal towards the makeshift stable area of the Camp, his stride purposeful and angry.  How could he have let his emotions get the best of him?  Disappointed and angry with himself now, he wished he could scream his frustration out.  Instead, he contented to let his anger slowly bleed by brushing his horse down.  He understood the menial punishment the King had ordered of him was to cool his head down and think upon his actions.  He knew that any other noble or for that matter lieutenant of the King’s would have given such a task to their manservant, finding it beneath them, but Robin knew that doing such tasks did not demean a person, but rather made them reflective and overall, stronger in the long run.

He had learned that lesson in his childhood that had taken away his father and mother, the house fire that had consumed nearly most of Locksley manor.  He had never told anyone, but he blamed himself for the fire, having been carelessly playing with a few of the servants’ children and some of the local peasant children around the kitchens.  He had seen his father and mother run back into the burning house, trying to rescue as many of their servants and prized possessions as possible, all the while the rest of the town trying to put the fire out.

When another fire had started up in the kitchens again of the rebuilt manor, years later, he was determined that no one else would die and had gone into the fire and rescue all of the servants, including Much’s mother.  Sadly Much’s mother had died soon afterwards, her injuries greater than initially believed and his rescue had also left him bedridden for the rest of that summer.

That was his menial punishment and he had learned a lot about the lives of those that served the Locksleys and more about the peasants of his township than ever before.  It had humbled him and shocked him to see how they lived, how he had treated them before and even after his parents’ death.

So he stood by his horse, still panting from sheer exhaustion and brushed it down gently, giving it a generous amount of water and grain as it rested with Carter’s steed.  White flecks of sweat still matted a part of his horse’s neck, but Robin knew that the horse would survive, sturdy and hardy of a mount.  After he was done brushing down his own horse, he started on Carter’s taking care to make sure both horses were comfortable as the sun dipped lower on the horizon.  Finally, finished with his task, his anger spent and brushed away with the grooming and caring of the two horses, he headed back to his tent to clean up.

Stepping into his tent he opened his mouth to tell Much to clean his chainmail and armor when he realized, Much was still with the Hashashin, an injured hostage to ensure his loyalty and cooperation.  Closing his mouth, he bit his lip in frustration as he shucked off his armor, tossing it to an empty chair where his manservant would usually sit.  It wasn’t too dirtied, he supposed as he glanced at the armor, maybe a little dusty from their hasty journey back, but otherwise no blood.

“Sir,” Corin’s young voice suddenly spoke up outside his tent flaps and he glanced at it to see his outline against the sun.

“What is it?” he asked, taking off his tunic and rummaging around his bed area for a fresh clean one.  It was a bit frustrating since he knew that Much would have already procured one for him to change into.  Finding a clean one amongst several dirtied ones was a lot harder than it looked.  He finally found one that was only slightly wrinkled, but looked clean enough and slipped it over his head.

“The King requests your presence,” Corin replied quietly and Robin paused, midway buckling his belt as he heard the slight fear in the young man’s voice.

“Corin,” he glanced at the shadow standing quietly at attention in front of his tent, “are you afraid?”

“No sir,” the young man replied, but he caught a slight pause of hesitation.

“Do not lie to me…”

Silence greeted him before he saw the shadow hang its head slightly, “Yes sir…”

“Of what,” he finished buckling his belt back on and proceeded to strap his sword belt onto his waist.

He thought he heard Corin mumble something and glanced over to the shadow, “Pardon, but I did not hear you.”

“Of death,” was the louder reply.

“That’s not true is it?” he countered, a sad smile on his face as he finished dressing himself and opened the flap to his tent, startling the young man who stepped back a few paces.  He saw the flash of fear across his eyes before Corin adverted his gaze to the ground.  “That’s not true is it…” he asked again this time in a gentler tone, “I’m sorry Corin.”

The young messenger looked up, eyes blinking rapidly before Robin put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it affectionately, “I’m sorry for scaring you like that.  I’m sorry you had to witness what I was doing to Andrew, what happened back there.”

He did not expect Corin to say anything, and true to form, the young man just stared at him for a few minutes before nodding, the hesitant boyish smile back on his face before Robin released him, glad that he was able to bring him back to better spirits.

“Now,” he continued a bit more conversationally, “think you can find someone, like probably Jordan, Carter’s manservant to come and help me clean my armor?  It’s fuller of dust and sand than anything else.”

“Yes sir, I will, and thank you sir,” Corin nodded before scampering away.

Robin watched him run until he was just a small image across the Camp before heading to the King’s tent, his uplifted mood slowly evaporating as he approached the tent.  He avoided the spot where he could still see the scuffle marks of his struggle with Andrew and nodded grim greetings to the two members of the Private Guard stationed outside the King’s tent.

They nodded back, their faces expressionless.  Whatever they felt about their Captain shooting one of their own and nearly killing him they kept strictly to themselves, probably on Tomas’ orders.  Stepping into the King’s tent, he stood at perfect attention as he saw his King still in the midst of talking with Carter, the two of him in hushed low voices.  Andrew was no where to be seen and Robin hoped the man had been questioned and swiftly executed.

After a few minutes, he saw Carter glance over to him, but his King did not even acknowledge him and continued to talk, now looking over a small map.  Robin wondered if this was also a part of his punishment, to wait for his King to acknowledge him, which could be an hour later or even two weeks later for all he knew.  However, he knew he had no right to query his King at the moment, so he did as he was doing, standing just inside the King’s tent, acting like the Private Guard member he should be, ever watchful, ready to defend his King at a moment’s notice.

Apparently the King’s silent message also got through Carter as he saw his friend turn away from him, and continue his talk with the King, resolutely ignoring him.  Their voices were too soft for Robin to pick out the French in them, but he continued to stand for at least an hour more in silence, watching out of the corner of his eye as his King went from table to table, bringing up various maps or pointing out little things on the main map in the middle of his tent.

Finally his King raised his head and looked at him grimly.  “ _Ah, Captain Locksley, you’ve arrived_ ,” his King said in a neutral tone as if he had just arrived from outside instead of standing inside his tent for the past hour or so.

Now Robin allowed himself to relax slightly and bowed to his King, “ _Milord_.”

“ _You may make your report_ ,” his King waved for him to speak and Robin nodded once.

He wanted to ask about Andrew, to make sure the traitor was dead, wanted to make sure his King was safe, wanted to ask Carter how he knew that Eric and Andrew were Templars, but now was not the time.  His King had given him an order and chastised earlier, Robin would push aside all of his questions.  Sometimes it was not for a soldier, even in his position, to question his liege and lord’s commands with his own.

“ _I have no physical evidence, but it seems the Hashashin do have a Piece of_ _Eden_ _in their possession.  Their leader Al Mualim died several days before we had arrived and the town seemed to be recovering from the throes of some kind of spell of sorts that made everyone from the soldiers to the peasants dazed and confused.  There was no evidence of witchcraft, but I believe it may be the Piece of_ _Eden_ _’s power described by Robert de Sable’s journal._

“ _However, several of the assassins, including the one named Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad who dueled de Sable, seemed not to be affected by the spell amongst the people of Masyaf,”_ Robin continued, “ _it seems after Al Mualim’s death Altaїr has installed himself as leader of the Hashashin though there is contention amongst his rule._ ”

“ _Will they oppose him?_ ”

“ _I do not know, but the main contention comes from the Rafiq of Jerusalem, Malik Al-Sayr to whom Altaїr had directed me to find in search of proof of Robert’s treachery_ ,” Robin shook his head.

“ _And proof you did find Captain_ ,” the King drew out de Sable’s diary from a small pile of rolled up parchments, “ _do you know what secrets our Grand Master have been keeping in here?_ ”

“ _Only little, milord_ ,” Robin replied, “ _I dared not read every word the man had written down._ ”

“ _Names.  Names of traitors in our own camp, in the camps of the force left behind by Phillip and Leopold.  A traitor’s list!_ ” the King slammed the book down onto the table holding his main map, scattering a few parchments and making some of the small figurines on the table fall over.  “ _Names of those he had conspired with, those Saracen forces, even some of Salah al-Din’s lieutenants!_ ” his King continued, voice growing in anger.

“ _Is this Crusade meaningless if our own men would turn against us?  To conspire against us?  To bring together the forces of those who would oppose us only for their gain?_ ” the King continued, “ _would it not be the loyalty to God and to the Crown that would see their bodies swing, we dare not raise our hand._ ”

Robin was puzzled, even though he had read parts of de Sable’s diary, he had not even seen a full list of names, only the names of a few conspirators, especially those in Cyprus where he knew the Knights Templar ruled.  It then hit him like a jolt of lightning and he realized that his King had known about the fourth faction in the Crusade, the Templars.  The ones who staunchly opposed the Hashashin.

His King had known who were Templar agents in his own camp, in Phillip’s camp, even in Leopold’s camp.  He had long known about Robert de Sable, about Sibrand, about William of Montferrat conspiring against him; had known the corruption of Garnier de Naplouse.  Robin looked at his King and at once saw the truth in his bright eyes.  His King had known about the traitors in his own Private Guard…

“ _Yes_ ,” Richard saw his expression change and nodded gravely, “ _We knew there were Templar traitors in my own camp.  But we did not know who they were.  We knew that their goal was to procure the Piece of_ _Eden_ _these Hashashin protect so fiercely and we knew that they would not wait, not especially after Robert’s death._ ”

“ _But what we did not know was who_ ,” his King picked up the book again, running a few fingers over its rigid spine, “ _after you and your men had left, Tomas and a few selected lieutenants we knew to be trustworthy questioned the ones we suspected were hidden Knights Templars._ ”

“ _Then-_ “

Here the King looked at Carter who met Robin’s gaze levelly, “ _Captain Tulane has long been our spy amongst the Knights Templar._ ”

Robin realized that of all the times his friend had tried to offer his help, subtly, it was possibly he did it under the King’s orders.  He looked at his friend, seeing him in a whole new light and a heavy feeling of sadness and disappointment filled him.  He understood now, that he truly did not know Carter, did not know the man that he had called friend; the man who was now revealed to be the King’s own personal spy.

He had long known that Carter’s family was in much higher standing as a noble family, but now he knew how high that standing was.  He also understood the King’s implied words to him; that whatever the King knew, his spy knew probably even more.  It was probably why the King had sent Carter with him to Masyaf; he had known that Eric and Andrew were Templars but had no solid proof until they tried to escape the fortress.

How could he trust Carter when his so-called friend could not tell him the truth?  That he knew all along who worked for the Templars and was even willing to sacrifice him to make sure the Templars were hunted down.

Was it because he had not trusted Carter enough during his investigation, withheld information from that he had thought to do the same?  That somehow his friend did not trust him either to give him all of the necessary information he needed to find out about the other Templars’ treachery?

“ _We sent him to protect you, Captain_ ,” Richard’s next words drove his previous thought out of his head as he stared at his King.

“ _Milord?_ ” Robin was now greatly confused.

“ _We had received word that a splinter faction of Phillip’s forces, discontent with being left behind by their own King to follow us, would attack during our assault on Arsuf.  The assassin’s arrival only pointed to the leader of the faction and he was eliminated_ ,” the King explained and Robin finally understood why his King was so lenient and willing to listen to Altaїr’s words before he had cut down Robert de Sable.  He had thought it odd and risky for his King to allow the assassin to get so near, but now, he understood why his King did so.

“ _Your investigation into the deaths of the men in_ _Acre_ _served to help piece the information our others spies had gathered about this threat which now has a name, Knights Templar.  It also proved the trust of the soldiers and Crusaders who were not part of this faction.  The death of Robert de Sable, the ringleader of these Templars helped drive fear into the hearts of those who were still in the shadows_.”

The King stepped forward and placed a hand on Robin’s shoulder, towering over him, “ _Your purpose at Masyaf was a dual purpose.  The Hashashin would be great allies in this war of corruption and of power.  Were we a lesser man, we would demand the acquisition of the Piece of_ _Eden_ _from their hands, but from the Grand Master’s diary, there will be more found._ ”

As he looked up into his King’s eyes, Robin could see that while his King was sincere in his words, he saw that there was also a hunger for the power the fabled Piece of Eden could give to him.  He nodded in agreement, but Robin vowed that if he ever found such a Piece, he would not give it to his King.  Not to keep for himself, but to see such a power corrupt his liege and lord, it would be devastating.

He would not allow his King to turn into someone like Robert de Sable or even William of Montferrat.

“ _We sent you away also to protect you, Captain_ ,” the King released his shoulder and stepped back, “ _by sending you to conduct your investigation, we made you a target for those who would see you eliminated.  The Templars do not like outsiders butting into their business._ ”

“ _Milord it is my duty and my honor to protect you.  One I would happily give my life for-_ “

“ _Silence, Captain_ ,” the King raised his hand, but spoke quietly, cutting Robin off, “ _this is difficult enough for us to explain without your input_.”  Robin saw the King sigh heavily; looking at his map before picking up a few small pieces and placing them back where they had belonged on the map.  “ _In this world, there are not many men who are able to gather and retain the loyalty of even the simplest of men.  Most are tainted by politicks and by their own greed.  You, Captain Locksley, have managed to avoid all of that and yet procure the necessary information we needed to gain the loyalty of the rest of the Knights Templars_.”

Robin looked down, embarrassed by such high praise from his King.  He had done nothing to deserve the praise so why was his King even conferring it upon him?  He was just a simple noble, not even high noble, whose family served the King and court for generations.  He had gone with the King to the Crusade to bring glory to his home, to the Church, to Marian…

“ _We protected you because you have a vital role to play once more, Captain_ ,” the King concluded bringing Robin’s head back up once more and he stood at attention.

“ _I live to serve, Your Grace_ ,” he said.

“ _Now that we have assured all traitors to the Crown have been eliminated, we shall ride to Masyaf and seal this alliance_ ,” the King declared.

“ _As you wish.  I shall gather up the Private Guard-_ “

“ _Only two other men, Captain.  Word must not reach Salah al-Din_ ,” the King warned and Robin’s brows knitted together in puzzlement.

“ _Milord, there are still others out there.  If they see you-_ “

“ _They will not see us, will they?_ ” the corner of his King’s lips twitched up in a half smile and Robin understood what his King meant.  Over his robes and armor, the King would be wearing the garbs of a peasant and pilgrim, much like he and Much had done to get into Jerusalem.  It was risky, especially with so little guards and passing through hostile lands between Arsuf and Masyaf, but if the King wished it, then he would not hesitate to obey.

“ _No, sire, they will not_ ,” he replied.

                                    *                      *                      *

A week had passed since the Crusader named Robin of Locksley had left Masyaf.  A week since he had pursued the traitorous Templars in his group.  Though many of his Brothers had doubts about the sincerity of Robin’s words, Altaїr was inclined to believe him.  But to appease the others, he had kept Robin of Locksley’s manservant as a guest of the Hashashin.

But Altaїr also knew that many if they had not already would see through the ruse.  With their sharply trained senses and keenness for the political and sociological landscape of these lands, all Assassins knew how worthless menservants were.  They were easily replaceable, only there to serve their master’s needs.  There were occasional times when a manservant had more information worth about his master than anything else, but in most cases, Altaїr and many of the others had seen them discarded or abandoned in battle when the need arose.

However, he was willing to wager than Robin of Locksley treated his manservant, Much, he had learned the mousy man’s name, differently than the others.  Especially based on the stories he had heard from him.

The first couple of days of Much’s captivity, had kept the man confined to the eastern wing of the fortress, the mousy man nervous and skittish each time either he or his Brothers approached him.  Then one day Much had just started to babble, nonsensical things, about his home across the vast sea of the Bahr al-Rum, of the battles he and his “Master” had been in, but most of all about how Robin was a good man, was to return for him, would never abandon him, such things like that.

Altaїr reflected on Much’s words; he had heard devoted professions similar to whatever the manservant had said in almost all of his killings of the nine men Al Mualim had sent him to do, but to hear such devotion from a servant to a Master.  He noticed to his dark amusement that Much’s words, a daily profession since he had started speaking, had even disturbed Malik to some degree.

But the strength and the devotion of Much’s loyalty to Robin had also begun to make the other Rafiqs and Assassins notice.  Some had jeered at him, testing his faith in his Master, but Much had been resolute and by the afternoon of this day, many of the jeerers had turned their attention elsewhere.  Altaїr had long realized that it was not fanatical devotion Much lavished upon Robin of Locksley, but the simple fact of friendship and trust that the man had for him.

His spies and even the information he had gotten from the Rafiq of Acre told him that Much believed whatever Robin was doing was right and he would follow his Master anywhere.  But even with that assurance Altaїr was still not quite ready to give the manservant the small measure of trust he had extended to Robin.

“ _For once you are correct, Altaїr_ ,” Malik’s voice spoke up behind him and Altaїr turned from where he was looking out of the window into the gardens behind the fortress, to see his friend giving him a slightly sardonic smile.

“ _He has returned?_ ” Altaїr asked.

“ _And with another claiming to be the Crusader King himself_ ,” Malik shrugged, his posture and tone not even giving away his emotions.

He raised an eyebrow at the statement.  Over the years of this latest Crusade he had heard of the cunningness of Richard the Lionhearted; of the man’s prowess in battle against Salah al-Din and his ability to rally his men under his banner, even if the battle was lost.  He had met the King briefly during his chase after Robert de Sable and had wondered why the King believed him so readily.  While he had known of Robin’s investigation and presumed that he had reported his findings to the King, it had still puzzled him a little that the King would readily allow him to kill Robert in such a fashion.

He understood the need for it, after all, the Knights Templars would rebel against Richard’s attempt to take over them, but by putting the life of Robert de Sable into the Christian God’s hands, then he absolved himself of any situation.  With Robert’s death by his hand, Richard would use his actions to take control of the remaining Knights Templar without any major resistance.

A shrewd and cunning man to come to negotiate the peace between the Hashashin and Crusaders.  Altaїr had a feeling that perhaps one day, the Crusaders would be of need of the Hashashin’s services, much like their mutual agreement with Salah al-Din on the other side.

A small commotion followed by echoing feet in the main hall below made Altaїr turn away from the window and walk over to the balcony that overlooked the spacious hall to see indeed, five people dressed like pilgrims being escorted in by the other guards, four of them on the outside to protect the one in the middle.  He saw them lower their hoods and hid a knowing smile behind his own hood as he saw Robin of Locksley look up, spotting him staring down at them.

Turning to one of the guards standing a few feet away he said, “ _Let the Crusader servant know his Master has come for him_.”

The guard nodded before hurrying away, and Altaїr headed down the stairs, keeping his expression neutral.  By returning to Masyaf, he knew that the Crusader Robin had proven himself in the eyes of the other doubters amongst the Hashashin that he was a trustworthy person.  And it seemed, bringing the Crusader King with him, had proven that Richard was completely serious about negotiating a parlay with the Hashashin and that he believed in the threat the Templars held.

As he stopped in front of the group, he immediately recognized the shock of red hair, like the color of blood that belonged to King Richard the Lionhearted.  The paleness of the King along with his shock of blood-colored hair was a rarity in these lands and he could hear some of the other members of the Hashashin, especially those not yet initiated into their order, surprised murmurs.  A glance at them quieted their murmurings.

“Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad, we presume,” the King’s English was heavily accented, surprising Altaїr a bit.  He had heard rumors that the Crusader King could not speak the language of the people he had claimed to be their King, but to hear it was another thing.  How very interesting…

“King Richard the Lionhearted,” he greeted in English before he saw the King lean towards Robin and whisper in his ear, the Captain nodding before stepping forward and bowed slightly.

“My apologies Altaїr, but my King believes this negotiation of parlay will be best suited if I were to translate for him.  From our homeland, he is used to conversing in French for negotiations,” Robin said in English and Altaїr nodded, filing the information away for further use.

“You wish to parlay peace between the Hashashin and the Crusaders?” he asked in English.  When Altaїr had been training as an assassin, even before he had received his rank of Master Assassin he had been taught the many languages of the land.  Al Mualim had insisted upon some proficiency in the two main Crusader languages, Latin and English.  The other languages like French or German were helpful, but not necessary for his training.

However, not all of the Hashashin knew English and Altaїr wanted it kept that way.  Even though Al Mualim had betrayed them with his grab for power and domination over the minds of others, he had taught him that there were somethings not everyone within the Hashashin was ready to hear.

“We wish to apologize for the attack on your people by the traitorous Robert de Sable,” Robin translated through his King, “and propose an alliance to dispel the threat the Knights Templars stand for.”

“Such proposal cannot be easily made,” Altaїr replied, wondering what the King had to offer.

“We offer you two things,” Robin translated even though he looked quite surprised as the King stepped forward and pulled out a very worn looking book, “the diary of Robert de Sable.  It has the names of those he conspired with.”

“They were killed,” Altaїr narrowed his eyes slightly, “all ten of them.”

“Yes, the leaders in the cities of Damascus, Jerusalem, and Acre.  But there is more,” Robin was now looking at his King as he translated, “we have reason to believe since the acquisition of the island of Cyprus by the Knights Templar, it has become a stronghold for them.”

 Altaїr stared shrewdly at Richard, gauging the sincerity of the man’s words.  He knew why Richard had told him the information.  If he were to attack Cyprus and bring it down to its knees, then his own position amongst the more loyal Knights Templars would be ruined and his Crusade would be for naught.  His spies had told him that Richard was to move to Jaffa soon, probably to assault the city before making camp for the winter months.

What Richard provided was an opportunity for the Hashashin to strike another decisive blow to the Templars, who by now were regrouping in Cyprus.  Yet the information still needed to be confirmed before they could make any moves.

“What is your second proposal?”

He saw Richard speak to Robin before the Crusader Captain suddenly turned back and stare at his King, shock all over his face before his King nod once before the Crusader turned back to face him, taking a deep breath before stepping forward once more.

“ _The King wishes me to offer my services to the Hashashin for this strike on Cyprus_ ,” Robin spoke up, but this time it was in Arabic, eliciting gasps from almost everyone in the room.  He bowed slightly, switching back to English, “It is my honor to serve my King that I, Robin of Locksley, Captain of the King’s Private Guard do so humbly offer my bow and sword to the Hashashin in that they may defeat the Knights Templar.”

Altaїr raised an eyebrow, surprised that the King was so willing to offer Robin’s services to the Hashashin.  He looked at Robin, still with his head bowed back to the King and thinned his lips, wondering what kind of political game the King was playing at.  He knew he could not best the King in this battlefield of politicking and negotiation, the man had too much experience with it, having been born and bred for it, but what he had learned himself from Al Mualim, he would use.

“The Hashashin would accept your service Captain, if not for the pressing reason of why it has been offered,” he acknowledged Robin who lifted his head and turned to the King.

He saw the ghost of a smile appear on the King’s face and saw that indeed his blunt words had caught the man off guard, as he had intended it to.  Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Malik and a few of the other assassins who understood his words also nod in agreement.

“The isle of Cyprus is the final stopping point before fresh troops arrive in Acre.  With the Knights Templar ruling the island, they will prevent the men from receiving the supplies they need to continue our push to Jerusalem,” the King spoke to Robin who translated.

“Helping you liberate Cyprus puts us away from our neutral position in this war.  We do not care for Salah al-Din to know we have joined the Crusader cause,” Altaїr replied carefully.

“And yet you do not deny that by not helping us liberate Cyprus you have allied yourself with Salah al-Din?” Altaїr saw the small triumphant smile on Richard’s face and frowned.

“By doing nothing we have maintained our neutrality,” he replied, knowing he was backed into a corner.  However, he could not let the others think that they had been manipulated into allying themselves with the Crusaders.  That would be a cruel hoax upon the deaths of so many of their Brothers and Sisters who had died when Robert de Sable had attacked them months ago.

He glanced at Robin and knew while the man seemed honorable; his King was most definitely proving himself to be anything but.  He wondered if the man realized how manipulative the King was, but doubted it as it seemed that the Captain of the Private Guard would see no fault within his King.  But there were still ways to salvage this…

“When and if we deem Cyprus a necessary target, it will of our own recognizance,” he said, “Captain Locksley’s skills will be needed, but not in a visible capacity.”  He had a feeling that the King hungered for the Piece of Eden, like so many men with power.  He wanted to dismiss it all, to tell them that their parlay for peace was nothing but a ruse that indeed what the Templars sought was also what Richard sought.

But for the King to offer Robin’s services, had thrown some of his convictions into doubt.  Perhaps the King had seen the loyalty and the purity of the man’s soul, untouched by the bloodshed, war, and betrayal around him.  However if Robin were to enter into the service of the Hashashin, Altaїr knew that his faith and his own convictions and especially his loyalty to his King would be sorely tested.

Which was why he agreed to it.  He needed to make sure that Robin of Locksley returned to the King and told him that the Piece of Eden was not a trinket to be trifled with.  Altaїr already had plans to utilize Robin’s skill in searching for the other Pieces of Eden the Apple had shown, but Cyprus was not to be one of his missions.  The Hashashin were still the neutral force within these lands and their battle with the Templars was just beginning.

“I understand,” the King nodded once in agreement, “are we in accord?”

“Yes,” Altaїr stepped forward, “we are.”

                                    *                      *                      *

**Author’s Notes:**

            In my research for this story, there was an unproven fact that the Hashashin were hired by King Richard to assassinate Conrad of Montferrat, William’s son.  In history he was the original regent of Acre and was killed on April 28, 1192.  The two assassins sent to do this deed were caught, one immediately was killed while the other confessed that the Hashashin sent them and was executed later.

            The assassination was unproven because while Richard really disliked Conrad, he denied any involvement in hiring the Hashashin to kill him.  In Cyprus, the Templars did rule the island, having installed it as their main base of operations after Richard conquered it on his way to the Holy Lands.  However, in the events of the Crusade, it fell out of Templar hands and was eventually ruled by the Lusignan family.

            Fans of _Assassin’s Creed_ will notice that Cyprus becomes an Assassin stronghold of sorts after in _AC: Bloodlines_ , Armand Bouchart, the ruling Knights Templar in the game, is killed and it is used to eventually house the Piece of Eden known as the Apple of Eden.


	6. Part 6: Entanglement

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).  **Words in foreign languages (Arabic, French, and German) will be _italicized_ throughout this story.**

 

**Story:**

_Part 6 – Entanglement_

 

The garden was surprisingly still very green and soothing as Robin sat on one of the stone benches, staring out at the landscape.  Several days had passed since the King and his small entourage departed Masyaf, leaving him and Much behind to serve as both ambassadors of the King, but also as the Crusader presence in their newly formed alliance with the Hashashin.  Truth be told he had been shocked when the King had told him that he would be representing the King within the Hashashin in this new alliance.  He would have expected Carter, especially with his knowledge and skills, to be here instead of him.

But he understood the gravity and trust his King had put in him for this assignment.  This was the vital role his King had told him during his debriefing over a week and half ago.  A rueful smile appeared on the corners of his lips as he realized Tomas was going to be even unhappier now that he would be working with the Hashashin for the next month or so.  He did not know how long he expected to be a liaison for the King, but if this was another way to protect the King and serve as his eyes and ears then he would do so.

Yet the feeling of unease still lingered and Robin knew it was because of the way his King had negotiated with Altaїr.  He himself had never been privy to negotiations the King conducted, but after seeing it first hand and the way words had been manipulated, it left him with a slightly bitter taste in his mouth.  He felt like somehow he was being cheated, but had nothing to do with it.  He knew that he himself had not been cheated the opportunity to serve his King, but rather felt that somehow the Hashashin and even the King himself was cheated out of something important.

Perhaps this was the way real negotiations were worked out and Robin had silently vowed to be a fair and compassionate lord over Locksley when he returned to England.

In the days since the King’s departure, he had been allowed to wander all of Masyaf and he and Much had done so, dressed in the garbs of the locals, but their distinctive hair and skin color making them stand out in the sea of olive skinned people.  However, the locals had treated them as a curiosity oddity and were initially hesitant to approach them, but once Robin had started to speak to them and even sampled some of their cuisine, many of them had warmed up to their presence.

However there was still a distant frostiness, a large part of them due to the constant guard he and Much had on them wherever they went.  Though their guard detail stayed respectfully at a distance away from them, they were still within visible sight and thus, deterred a few of the children and some mothers from approaching them.  The bolder ones paid no heed to their guard detail and had even approached them, full of confidence and swagger, even challenging the two of them to mock duels.

Robin had always declined their challenges, unsure not what Altaїr would say, but mostly because he could still feel Malik’s disapproving stare each time they headed out into the town.  It would be the most convenient excuse the Rafiq of Jerusalem could use to break the alliance.  Then there was the garden; he had discovered it just yesterday, but already, it provided a spectacular view of the landscape and had reminded him somewhat of home with all of the greenery.

A small noise behind him made Robin turn slightly from the bench he was sitting on to see Altaїr approach him, his ever present grim look on his face.  Never once did Robin see the leader of the assassins with his hood off of his face and he suspected that Altaїr would probably never fully show his face to him, an outsider.  However, he also knew that the noise behind him was deliberate and if the assassin wanted to ambush him silently, he could have done so without a sound.

“We leave for Damascus,” the assassin said quietly and Robin nodded.

“Any word from your contacts in Cyprus?” he knew that as soon as the King had left, Altaїr had sent out messengers and spies to Cyprus to ascertain the truth of a Templar presence in Cyprus.  However, they had not yet reported back and Robin suspected that it would take at least two weeks or so.

“Not yet,” the master assassin replied, “but we did receive word of a Piece of Eden possibly in Damascus.”

“Really?” Robin was surprised.  He had thought that the Hashashin as a whole would jump upon the Templar presence in Cyprus, but apparently he had been wrong.  Though he was never allowed in the discussions Altaїr constantly had with the other higher ranked assassins, Malik included, he had caught snippets of information whispered to some of the other people.  It seemed many of them forgot he understood Arabic better than he spoke it.

The Hashashin were determined to acquire other Pieces of Eden to deter the Templars from their goal.  He was still not too sure that the Hashashin as a whole were trustworthy of such objects of power, especially if what was described in de Sable’s diary was true, but he hoped that with Altaїr’s firm guidance at least they wouldn’t fall to temptation.  Robin didn’t really know how or when he had come to trust the man, but he was glad that the trust was somewhat reciprocated.

“My sources tell me that it is not a full Piece, but rather a broken part of a Piece of Eden,” Altaїr said, shrugging a bit, “we will still need to seek the truth of it and if it is true, to acquire it.”

“Would it still hold the power of a Piece of Eden?” he asked.

“This I do not know,” Altaїr conceded, “horses are being prepared by the front gates.  I will meet you there.”

Robin nodded as he got up and followed the assassin back into the fortress, parting ways as Malik came down the stairs, intent on a last-minute discussion with Altaїr.  He headed into the town, picking Much up from a group of children who had been playing with him and together they both headed to the front gates where they saw three horses, outfitted with small travel packs were waiting for them.

Robin saw that his pack of arrows and bow were slung over the side of his mount, covered in cloth and his lips quirked up in a small smile.  Smuggling in a bow and arrow pack without suspicion was hard enough, but with the cloth covering most of its shape and form, it would pass muster.

The young stable hands, prepping their horses stepped away as they saw them approach and Robin smiled a greeting at them before checking over his mount.  Just as he mounted his horse, he heard the shouted greeting of Altaїr’s name and turned his head slightly to see the master assassin approach them, completely outfitted with his wide array of weaponry.  At first glance, he looked like any ordinary white-robed scholar, but on closer inspection, Robin could see the small glint of knives that decorated his belt in the middle, left shoulder, and the wicked looking curved Saracen blade by his side.

Altaїr spoke to a couple of the young stable hands and they nodded eagerly before hurrying back towards the town before he mounted his own horse and glanced at them.

“Let’s go,” he started his horse at a fast trot and Robin followed suit, Much following behind him.

They were finally off to find the fabled Piece of Eden.

                                    *                      *                      *

The ride to Damascus took only a couple of days before the Saracen stronghold city came into view.  Robin had pulled on the reigns of his horse, stopping it abruptly as he took in its majestic beauty from the distant cliff they were on before continuing on.  Since he and Much were dressed in the garbs of pilgrims, Altaїr had them blend with a small group going into the city while he called upon some of his fellow white-robed scholars to help him get past the guards.

However, once they were all inside, he and Much followed Altaїr into the winding maze of streets and peasants to what looked like an ordinary building with seemingly no entrance on either side save for a small ladder that reached the rooftop of the building.  He had given the assassin a curious look before climbing the ladder to the roof, surprised to see that a symbol of sorts, a stylized 'A' was emblazoned faintly upon the rooftop, only visible at a certain angle from the sunlight, but otherwise, it was an ordinary looking rooftop with wooden grates across part of it, vines creeping along it.

Altaїr brushed past him and knelt down by a part of the grated roof, before picking up a small square, just big enough for a man to fit through and put it to the side.  A glance at him and Much told Robin all he needed to know and he glanced at his manservant before dropping into the makeshift entrance, crouching as he landed on the stone-worked ground and moved to the side as Much dropped through.   Altaїr was the last to follow them, closing the entrance as he dropped down and landed without so much a sound.

“I guess that's the front door?” Much asked hesitantly.

“Stay here while I talk to the Rafiq,” Altaїr ignored Much's question and headed into a side entrance.

Robin heard the sound of a voice raised in greeting, but the Arabic was muffled and he could not make out whatever was said as what must be the Rafiq of Damascus talking with Altaїr.  A few minutes later, the master assassin reappeared with a white-haired old man dressed in robes of similar styling to what Malik wore.

“Ah...Crusader,” the Rafiq looked at them critically, but not kindly either.  His English was heavily accented and Robin suspected that the man probably only knew a few words of English.

“ _Peace be with you, Rafiq_ ,” he bowed slightly to him before straightening, “ _I am Robin of Locksley._ ”

He saw a white bushy eyebrow rise up in surprise at his words before the man turned to Altaїr, “ _He speaks our language this one does.  A wily fox or a wise man to learn the language of those he conquers?_ ”

“ _I believe both suffice in this case_ ,” Robin answered, bringing the Rafiq's gaze back to him and he saw a wide smile split the bushy white beard in two as the man chuckled.

“ _Most definitely a wily fox, Altaїr.  He has the heart to learn, and that is promising in this day and age of ignorance_ ,” Robin had a feeling that he had won at least some admiration from the Rafiq and shot a quick glance at Altaїr, but the assassin's expression stayed the same.

“ _Ah, but come, come, tell me what mission brings you to Damas that we may discuss_ ,” the old Rafiq clapped a fatherly hand on Altaїr's shoulder before steering him back into the entrance he had appeared from while gesturing for Robin and Much to follow him.

As they entered the other room Robin was taken aback at how large and spacious the room was, and how much books and scrolls there were on the shelves lining the room.  Across the room was another entrance, but he could not see what was in the room and was gently steered away from it as the Rafiq gestured for them to sit on the pillows in the corner of the room.

Robin did so, Much next to him craning his neck this way and that, trying to take in the whole room.  He unshouldered his covered bow and arrows and set them by his side noting how the Rafiq's sharp eyes took a glance at them before he bustled himself with some sweet smelling tea and odd looking food.

Robin picked at a small dark looking fruit he recognized as a date and chewed on it thoughtfully as he saw Altaїr pass on the food and instead accept a cup of hot tea.  The Rafiq poured him and Much a cup of their own before settling down on a pillow across from them.

“ _We seek information about the Piece of Eden located in Damas_ ,” Altaїr started quietly and Robin translated to Much.

“ _He does not understand?_ ” he saw the Rafiq point to Much and Robin nodded.

“ _He is my friend and servant, but has not had the opportunity to learn your language_ ,” he replied.

“ _Such a shame, a prettier language for those who are civilized_ ,” the Rafiq answered and Robin frowned slightly, but the man took no notice and instead turned back to Altaїr, “ _What you seek great leader, I have only heard rumors about.  The Templars and those working with the men you have killed in this city have all but gone underground.  However, not all is lost as their servants still roam the streets, attempting to reclaim the lost glory._ ”

“ _Where would you have us start?_ ”

“ _He is joining in this endeavor?_ ” the Rafiq glanced at him before noting the small nod of confirmation from Altaїr, “ _Truly great leader-_ ”

“ _Your worries are unfounded Rafiq_ ,” Altaїr cut the man off firmly, but gently.  “ _Where would you have us start?_ ”

“ _The markets and souks are where the rumors are strongest.  There have also been whispers amongst the flames of books.  These are the likely places to start_ ,” the Rafiq looked chastised for questioning Altaїr.

“ _Thank you_ ,” Altaїr took the intended apology with a curt nod, “ _Robin and his manservant will listen to the rumors at the souks.  Please provide him with all of the information and help given to one of our brothers._ ”

“ _I will inform our spies as such_ ,” the Rafiq inclined his head towards the master assassin before also bowing slightly to him, “ _do you wish to rest before hand?_ ”

“ _No, we shall start immediately_ ,” Altaїr got up and Robin did so too.  A quick nudge to Much made him also scramble to his feet.  He bowed slightly to the Rafiq who inclined his head once before following Altaїr out of the room to the other entrance he had seen earlier but was deterred from entering.  He noticed that it was full of worn pots, vases, and generally things of little clutter.

Altaїr suddenly picked up a small jar, slightly decorated with paintings and handed it to him.  Robin stared blankly at the assassin wondering what he was supposed to do with the vase before he pointed to a small hanging tapestry on the far side of the room.  “Beyond there is the entrance to the small market stall you have just entered.  The souk is located east of the Pasha Mosque, northeast from here.  We will meet back here at dusk.  You may use the market stall entrance under the guise of working for the Rafiq.”

Robin nodded, understanding that Altaїr had essentially given them covers instead of making them mere pilgrims in the Saracen-controlled city.  As assistants to the Rafiq who obviously ran a market stall to cover for the bureau’s more illicit activities, they would be free to wander from place to place and would have a good reason to stake out the souks.  Souks, or marketplaces in the more common English term, were a haven for business transactions, negotiations, and generally a place of information as common as the money changing hands.

“Dusk?” he asked, confirming what Altaїr had told him, reworking the cloth to cover his head, nose, and mouth once more.

“Yes,” the assassin replied and Robin nodded before heading towards the tapestry and pushing it away, Much behind him.

What greeted him was a busy market stall indeed, a couple of white-robed assistants, probably also fellow assassins or informers of the Rafiq selling their wares and haggling with customers.  He saw the quick looks the two white-robed assistants threw at him and Much before returning their attention on their customers and hurried past them, joining the crowds of people walking along the streets, all the while still carrying the jar by the crook of his left elbow.

A sudden shadow over his eyes made Robin look up just in time to see the tail end of a white robe flapping over a roof before a crooked smile worked its way up his lips, hidden behind the cloth that covered his nose and mouth.  It had to be Altaїr leaping his way across the rooftops.  Though he had never seen the master assassin in action except when confronting Robert de Sable, when he and Much had been exploring Masyaf, he had seen assassin trainees leaping from rooftop to rooftop all over the stronghold, honing their skills.

It also explained how Altaїr was able to escape so many times after his assassinations were complete.  By utilizing the locals and even the small patches of hay left in various areas, the assassins hid in plain sight.  A very ingenious concept if Robin had anything to say about it.

Looking back to the street, he and Much wormed their way through the crowds and after a half hour of dodging through pedestrian traffic, finally made it to a massive open-spaced courtyard, one of the main and biggest souks in all of Damascus.

“Wow,” he barely heard Much’s exclamation so noisy was the area.

“Come on,” he tugged the sleeve of Much’s robe and gestured to a few benches near the massive courtyard, a bit away from the traffic of the souk, but otherwise a good place for them to sit and potentially overhear any conversations nearby.

“So what’s in the jar?” Much asked quietly as they sat down, looking around at the passersby.

Robin opened his mouth to reply that there was nothing in it before he took another look inside the vase-like jar and noticed that there were several small burlap cloth squares, some twine, and a whole lot of dates.  He immediately understood what had been placed in his hand.  If he and Much loitered around the souk without doing much, even just browsing the stalls for various trinkets or objects and not brought anything, in the long run it would have attracted the suspicion of the guards.

By having some form of commerce, however small, the suspicion would lessen as the day wore on, but it also gave them access to extra information from locals or even merchants who were hungry and happened to be in the souk.  He picked out the cloths and twine before handing Much a square and drew out a few dates from the jar and placed it on his cloth.  “Here, tie that up,” he said as Much’s eyebrows rose up before he did as he was told.

“We’re going to sell them Master?” he asked.

“That’s right,” he grinned, knowing that while his manservant could not see his smile, he could still hear the excitement in his tone.

They had only gotten at least four small satchels of dates situated before their first customer came up, staring down at the little pile of dates.

“ _I give you two dinars for a bag_ ,” the Arab man pronounced.

“ _Uh-_ “ was all Robin got out.

“ _Seven_ ,” Much suddenly cut in and Robin glanced at his manservant, surprised that he could speak Arabic.

“ _Four, not higher_ ,” the man frowned slightly.

“ _Five_ ,” Much was quick to reply.

“ _Done_ ,” the man seemed to deflate a little, but pulled out the amount of coins and dropped them into Much’s hand before grabbing a small satchel of dates and walked away, popping a few into his mouth before he disappeared into the crowd.

“Much?” Robin looked at his friend, realizing that for the first time he was different, confident, bolder somehow.  Neither meek nor fretful as he had come to expect time and time again.

“Sorry Master,” Much looked downwards, busying himself with packing more dates together, “my mother taught me how to haggle with merchants on Market Day each week.  Most merchants don’t expect patrons to pay full price on anything and well…hearing you speak the language of the Saracens…you kind of pick up on a few…”

Robin laughed, gripping his manservant on the shoulder tightly and shook it in reassurance, “No need to apologize my friend.  I did not realize that we were expected to haggle.  You’ve taught me more in the past five minutes than I could possibly learn in a lifetime.”

He saw the faint rise of color on the visible areas of Much’s skin before he ducked his head further and mumbled something that Robin did not quite catch.

“Pardon?”

“I don’t really know that much Arabic aside from the numbers one through ten though…” Much mumbled.

“Then tell me what I need to know about haggling and we’ll just let you cut in if you think the prices are too low or too high, all right?” he said and Much looked up at him before nodding.

                                    *                      *                      *

It was mid-afternoon by Robin’s reckoning when they got their first hint of something related to the Piece of Eden, or at least he thought it could be possibly related to the Piece of Eden.  After their noon meal, in which Robin had used the skills taught to him by Much and successfully haggled with a merchant at a stall two benches away from where they had been sitting, with the small satchels of dates; he had taken a walk around the souk, peering and looking at other wares.

He had been by the jewelry stall when two men, sitting on the bench behind him had erupted into a fierce argument, a discussion about the slaying of a man named Jubair Al Hakim.  He did not recognize the name, but he did recognize the words describing the book burning and the intellectuals who needed to die in order to spare the wrath of Allah.  He had tried to listen closer, but it was hard to do with so many others in the souk and the sudden wave of buyers descending upon the jewelry stall he was at.

After a few more seconds of fruitlessly trying to listen into more of the conversation, he gave up and headed back to where Much was still sitting with the jar of dates, looking a bit nervous.

“Anything happen?” he whispered to his friend as he sat back down on the bench.

“No, a couple of children came by and brought some, but Master, I don’t know any other words in Arabic.  I can barely even understand the language, just numbers mainly,” Much muttered back quickly to him, occasionally pausing as people passed by or bent down to look at the small satchels of dates.

“Calm down,” Robin placed a comforting hand on his arm, “we’ll just pretend you’re mostly mute or something.”

“Okay,” he could see that Much was still nervous, but not as much as earlier.

They stayed for a couple of hours and when it seemed that the sun was dipping lower and lower into the streets and the crowds thinning as many made their way home, Robin and Much packed up the unsold dates and placed all of their earnings for the day in a small bundled satchel before making their way back to the bureau.

As they approached the storefront, Robin saw that the two assistants they had passed by earlier on their way out were preparing the store for closing.  They glanced at him and Much before one gestured to the door farther inside and Robin nodded once before passing through.  As soon as the door shut behind them the sound of padded feet made him look to see the Rafiq walking towards them.

“ _Ah, you have returned_ ,” the man took the jar from his arms and placed it on the ground before looking at him expectantly.

For a second Robin was confused until he realized that the Rafiq expected him to hand over the money they had made during the day and gave him the small satchel.

“ _Hmm_ ,” the Rafiq hummed mostly to himself, “not as great as my dates usually sell, but not as bad as I thought.”

“ _We’ve heard some interesting information Rafiq…_ ” Robin ignored the implied minor insult but the old man just held up his hands.

“ _Come, we discuss this later, now it is time for the evening meal_ ,” he said just as the muffled, but distant loud tolling of a gong sounded in the distance, signaling prayer time for the Muslims in the city.  During the day time, Robin and Much had to pretend to kneel in prayer along with everyone else when the gongs sounded, which was tricky at first since Robin realized it was so ritualized, but by the time the third instance of the gong had gone off, he had managed to replicate the posture.

“ _Come_ ,” the Rafiq waved them into the bureau.

Bewildered, Robin and Much joined him in sitting down amongst the pillows once more where a hot plate of something that smelled spicy and good waited for them.  Several minutes later, there was a quiet thump from the other room and Robin glanced up to see Altaїr walk in casually, sitting down and helping himself to some of the food as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

The meal was finished in silence before a servant cleared away all of the plates of food.  The Rafiq had lit up a small pipe with some interesting smelling smoke weed in it and was puffing slowly away.  “ _Your friend here is not quite the salesman I had expected, but he did not fare as badly as I thought he would._ ”

Robin frowned at the slight the Rafiq implied and opened his mouth to protest when Altaїr interrupted him.

“ _There were rumors abound of something being found, but no hint of a Piece of Eden_ ,” the assassin said quietly, flicking a look to him.

“ _I overheard an argument regarding Jubair Al Hakim’s death.  They mentioned something about book burning and the like_ ,” he met the assassin’s gaze evenly and to his surprise saw something flickering in those black eyes.

“ _Jubair was the last man I killed in Damas_ ,” Altaїr started slowly, flicking his hidden blade up from his bracer and absently testing the sharpness with his right fingers.  “ _The man swore he wished only to protect the people from repeating the mistakes of their ancestors._ ”

“ _Noble_ ,” Robin commented softly, making the assassin look at him for a second before nodding in agreement.

“ _However, his methods for burning books and all intellectual properties was unacceptable.  To deprive the next generation of such knowledge would be doomed to repeat history instead of preventing it from being repeated_ ,” Altaїr finished.

“ _What did he have to do with the Piece?_ ” he asked, curious as to what a book-burning intellectual like Jubair had anything if at all to do with the Piece of Eden.

“ _He believed that the Piece of_ _Eden_ _could give everyone the knowledge they deserved and they needed.  That the books and scrolls he was burning contained the lies and falsehoods of those that wrote it – it would cure the illness of ignorance that gripped the people_ ,” the Rafiq blew out another smoke ring, “ _such is the power of words._ ”

“ _But the actions-_ “

“ _Of people may be recorded down like your Crusader King and Saracen Salah al-Din, but even historians may record two versions down.  If you only had access to one of those versions, would you be more inclined to believe what you have read or what a complete stranger told you?_ ”

Robin was silent as he contemplated the question.

The Rafiq suddenly slapped his knee with an open palm, “ _Listen, Crusader, what if I told you that Salah al-Din was a good kind-hearted man, who only wished for peace.  That he did not wish to wage this war?_ ”

“ _Then why has he attacked the King?_ ” Robin countered.

“ _Precisely_ ,” the Rafiq smiled a slightly toothless smile at him, “ _you have been brought up to believe who your enemies are and who is right.  Consider this, both Allah and God, one in the same are they not?_ ”

“ _Not really as far as I have tried to read the Qu’ran-_ “

“ _But they are if you look deeper into the Holy Texts of the Muslims, Jews, and even your vaunted Christianity.  Each one of them believed in the creation of the world, that it was God, Allah, or Yahweh, whoever you wish to call upon this single all-powerful diety.  But that is where texts differ after the creation.  Each calls for their own belief that they are the more superior one, that their religion is the right path to salvation. That each belief, not the other, will lead you to Heaven or Nirvana – to eternal paradise and to peace in death.  Which one do you think is right?_ ”

Robin wanted to say the Christian Bible was the only true holy text out there.  That the Pope was correct in that Jerusalem could not be held within the hands of the heathens, but as he contemplated the Rafiq’s words, he couldn’t help but think of all of the other religious texts he had read during his years here.  What the Rafiq said was true…there were so many facets and sides to this war…

“ _But the Piece of Eden…controlling the minds of others,_ ”he trailed off, tapping his chin before glancing up again at the Rafiq and Altaїr, “ _Jubair had planned with the others to use the Piece to not only force upon peace in the Holy Land and perhaps within all of known civilization, but also to give only one facet of knowledge and information, the information they want others to know.  No opposing views, nothing…_ ”

“ _A forced peace.  One that is ideal, but one that also suppresses the will of others_ ,” Altaїr finished for him and Robin began to comprehend the gravity of the situation regarding the Piece of Eden.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, digesting the words said and Robin could feel his thoughts darken with the myriad of possibilities.  Still one thing bothered him the most.  “ _What’s to stop the Hashashin from using such knowledge against others?_ ”  He glanced at the Rafiq before the man looked at Altaїr and he turned to stare at the assassin.

“ _Nothing_ ,” was the simple reply from Altaїr.

“ _Altaїr-_ “

“ _Nothing except the secrecy behind the Pieces of_ _Eden_ _only known to Templar agents and the Hashashin.  Nothing except our creed that nothing is true and everything is permitted_ ,” the master assassin cut him off gently.

Robin reflected upon his words and stared back and forth between the two Hashashin members.  “ _You do not believe in God, do you?_ ”

The Rafiq gave him a toothy smile before chuckling, “ _To believe in some higher deity is to limit oneself to the truths of the world._ ”

“ _Nothing is true, everything is permitted?_ ” he tested the phrase out once more and saw Altaїr nod once.  He finally understood why the Hashashin were determined to make sure that the Pieces of Eden did not fall into Templar hands.  They saw the true power of what the fabled Piece was, just like the Templars, but they had realized that in any other hands, it would be used for a more sinister purpose, and it went against their whole Creed and the tenet that he had just learned.

That to embrace everything they could, they could not use the Piece of Eden against others.  To do so would be limiting themselves and forcing only a single ideal upon others.

“Master…” Much spoke up, quiet throughout the whole conversation and through dinner.

He glanced at his manservant and a small smile appeared on his face.  “Nothing is true, everything is permitted.”

Confusion appeared in Much’s face before Robin turned back to the Rafiq, surprised to see the old man smiling broadly at him.

“ _We shall teach you to become one of us yet._ ”

                                    *                      *                      *

It was several hours later that Robin found himself wide awake, staring up past the grates upon the rooftop eyes straining towards the twinkling stars.  He didn’t know what had woken him up, but somehow his instincts told him that it was nothing to fear or worry about.  Sighing softly, he rolled out of his bedroll that had been provided for him and Much in the adjoining room for the night.  There were numerous soft cushioned pillows that made for comfortable sleeping, but after so many years of sleeping on hard floors and stiff straw mats, he had discarded most of the pillows away and only used one to lay his head on.

Much however, had no problem whatsoever sleeping on the finer pillows and Robin shook his head in minor exasperation as a soft snore issued from his manservant’s bedroll.  Sometimes his manservant slept too soundly in his opinion.  But then again, he probably did not have nightmares constantly plaguing him.

Maybe sitting on the roof, staring at the stars would help lull the sleepiness back into him he supposed as he quietly crept towards the main room, intent on heading out of the store front and to climb the ladder.  However, he peered into the main room and saw that the door they had gone through earlier in the day had been locked…and he did not know where the key was.

Biting his lip he glanced up at the grated roof and to where a small fountain poured water constantly through.  If that was a way down from the roof, there probably had to be some way back up, he thought and began to slowly climb up, using the fountain’s jutting edges as a perch for his hands and feet.

He slipped a couple of times, barely catching himself on the smooth stonework before finally hauling himself up through the grates and onto the main roof.  Breathing out a quiet sigh of relief, he looked around and promptly froze.

Someone else was already sitting on the roof’s edge, feet gathered up near the face.  The bright moonlight shone a shadow upon the figure and Robin stared at the shadow for a brief moment, noting that it looked a bit like an eagle…

“Altaїr?” he realized that it was the master assassin sitting on the rooftop, staring out at the mostly silent city.

“Even a mouse would have been quieter trying to climb out,” was all the master assassin said and Robin opened his mouth to protest when he heard the hint of laughter in the usually stoic and calm man’s words.

Had the assassin really made a joke?  At his expense?

“I thought you were without humor,” Robin decided that it was a joke, however minor, and took the olive branch for what it was.  He sat on the edge of the roof, near the assassin, but instead of drawing his legs up like he did, Robin let them dangle over the edge.

“We are trained from childhood to adulthood in the art of taking one’s life,” Altaїr replied quietly, “such little time there is for humor except in the childhood before service to the Creed.”

The silence between them stretched for a little while and Robin found himself staring up at the twinkling stars, their beauty in the night sky almost unmatched.  He briefly wondered if Marian was also staring up at the stars, seeing the same ones he did…

“Who is she?” Altaїr suddenly asked his voice quiet and filled with something Robin could not identify.  He thought it was perhaps curiosity, but sounded more like a resigned hopefulness.

“Pardon?” he glanced at the hooded assassin but he gave no indication to his thoughts or feelings.

“Your manservant, Much, showed so much devotion to one man, beyond fanatical, speaking of such things as to your return for him, of your homeland across the great sea, even speaking of those you’ve left behind.  I have never seen such devotion,” Robin finally recognized the emotion; it was a light bit of envy with hints of wistfulness.

“Much,” Robin shook his head ruefully as he glanced back down towards where he saw his friend, now completely splayed out haphazardly across his pillows and bedroll.  “Much has given me more loyalty than I deserve.  More than I should have from one such as he.  I should have never brought him along with me.  His innocence will be his undoing and it will be upon my soul when it shatters.”

“Regrets for killing so many in this land?” the assassin looked at him curiously.

“Don’t you regret the lives you’ve taken?” Robin countered.

“No,” Altaїr gave the ghost of a smile, “each one of them had a purpose in their death.  Each one of them was not part of our tenets.”

“Stay the blade from the flesh of an innocent?” Robin remembered Malik’s words to him as he held Much hostage in Jerusalem before letting him go.  He saw a flicker of surprise in the dark eyes of the assassin and smiled slightly.  “Malik told me.”

Altaїr snorted softly in either derision or some other humor, but resumed his stare out into the darkened city.  “And he accuses me of not being subtle…”

Robin wanted to ask what the history between the two of them was as he could definitely see tension there, but he knew his question would probably close off any more dialogue with the master assassin.  Instead, he sighed and glanced up at the stars once more.  “I regret a lot of things, including the deaths of so many since I came here over four years ago.  But I do not regret helping my King achieve his goal.”

“And what will you do if he does take Jerusalem?”

“Home-,” Robin hoped that with Arsuf taken and Jaffa almost within their grasp, they would be able to charge upon Jerusalem soon and he would be able to go home to his fields, his manor, to Locksley and most of all…  “-to Marian.”

“She’s the one waiting for me at home,” he could see her face amongst the stars now, her full lips and coy smile.  The rosy cheeks and glittering eyes full of mirth.  Her long dark brown hair, falling in waves across her oval face…  He turned his gaze down to his feet, dangling from the roof.  “I hope,” he whispered the last part mostly to himself.

“Your manservant spoke of her as if she were a living goddess,” Altaїr gave no indication that he heard his whispered statement and Robin was glad.  He didn’t want anyone else to know that there was a very good chance that Marian would not wait for him, not after the row the two had before he had left the next day for London to join the King’s English entourage.

She wanted him to stay, not to go off for glory and for war.  She didn’t want him killing anyone, but he had said that he needed to prove himself to her, that he needed to make sure that in her eyes and in everyone else’s he was different than what people thought him to be.  That he was not a selfish lord who had been ignorant of his peasants.  That he was worthy of her love and her devotion.  He would bring back glory and honor and lay it upon her feet as a proper lord of the lands would do.

Now with so many brushes with death, he did not know if he would survive to see the King’s goal fulfilled and his own trip back.  But they were so close to their goal…

“Much is prone to exaggeration,” he shook his head, “but to me, she may be that.”

“Then why do you fight?”

Robin’s knee jerk reaction was to reply for honor and glory for the King and country, but he stopped himself as he thought a bit.  His experiences in the Holy Land had made him contemplate his words and actions a lot more than he would have done before.  And Altaїr’s question had triggered some of the lessons he had learned.  “I…originally fought for glory and for honor and being part of the King’s Private Guard is one of the highest honors I could ever imagine…”

Altaїr was silent as he collected his thoughts.

“…now I fight to return home to my family, my lands, and my friends.”  He looked at the silent assassin, wondering why he was being so prying when before they were at Masyaf they had only talked superficially.  “Why do you ask?”

“Because when we do find this Piece of Eden, it will tempt you with the greatest desires in your heart.  To know your own will and your own desires is to conquer the Piece’s influence.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience,” Robin stared curiously at Altaїr who did not meet his gaze.

He let the unspoken question hang in the air until after a few minutes of silence the assassin spoke up, this time his voice quiet and contemplative.  “I share this in the spirit of the friendship and information you have shared.”  Altaїr looked at him and Robin nodded once before the assassin turned back to stare at the cityscape.  “When I slew my master, Al Mualim, the Piece that he had used against my brothers, sisters, and myself, was still active.  Malik told me to destroy it, but I saw images within the Piece…images of the future, of the past, of recent events.  I realized that this was a weapon not to be destroyed, but to be preserved.  Not to be used, but to be studied…  It had tempted my master and corrupted him to betray our Creed, but he had been drunk on its power.  Thus I sealed it and it has been locked away ever since.

“When the Piece was active, it could not show me my inner most desire as I had already fulfilled it.  I was able to control it and seal it so it would harm no one.”

Robin wanted to point out that, that was a dangerous assumption to make, but he realized he did not truly know what the Piece of Eden did.  It was only through Robert de Sable’s diary and through the information he had learned from the King and from Altaїr what the Piece really did.  So who was he to judge whether or not the Hashashin who kept the Piece was really doing the right thing.  All he needed was to extend the measure of trust to Altaїr who had rendered the Piece inert.

“What’s to stop the others from trying the same thing within the Hashashin?”

“Their anger at what Al Mualim had done to them.  Everyone understands that it is a danger and will defend it with their lives to make sure no one else uses it,” Altaїr replied.

Robin realized that like his goal now to get home, Altaїr and the other Hashashin’s goals were to protect the Piece of Eden from falling into the wrong hands and to make sure that the Knights Templars were crippled in their efforts to find more Pieces of Eden.  He believed his goal would make his world safer.  Altaїr believe his goal would make the world safer…each of their goals, however, individualistic it was, was the same.

Both wanted to protect their homeland and homes.

                                    *                      *                      *

Over the next couple of days, Robin and Much made their way to the market to sell the dates in the jar and he began to learn the finer intricacies of haggling with shoppers.  It was mainly due to Much’s teachings and his own grasp of Arabic followed by the Rafiq’s appraisal of the money they had come back with, that he learned quickly.  He had also tried to keep his ear to the ground so to speak, for anymore information relating to Jubair Al Hakim’s book burnings, seeing that it may lead them to the Piece, but alas, the men who had argued days ago had not returned.

Meanwhile, Altaїr had continued to search across the city, but with little information gleaned from their findings, it seemed that they had hit a dead end in their investigation into the potential sliver of a Piece of Eden located in Damascus.

However, one day when Robin and Much returned to the bureau with yet again no information in hand, he saw Altaїr talking hastily to a messenger who looked like he had run across the whole city just to find him.  The Arabic was lightning fast and a few short hand gestures were made.  Robin glanced at the Rafiq who stood behind his counter, a frown on his face as he too stared at his leader talking with the messenger.

Finally Altaїr patted the young man on the shoulder before sending him away and turned to the Rafiq.  “ _Safety and peace Rafiq.  I trust you will extend the same hospitality to Robin and Much as you do with me?_ ”

“ _Of course, leader, they have long proven themselves worthy of our cause.  Be well_ ,” the Rafiq bowed his head deeply, “ _I wish you well on this journey._ ”

“Altaїr?” Robin stepped forward, confused.

“The spies we have sent to Limassol in Cyprus have confirmed that the new leader of the Knights Templar, Armand Bouchart is headed there and has been procuring artifacts that are of interest to the Knights Templar.  Your King’s information was correct,” Altaїr made a few adjustments to his belt and checked the multitude of knives that he carried upon his personage.

“So there is a Piece of Eden there?” Robin asked.

“Possibly, but if the Knights Templar have a leader already in place so soon after Robert de Sable’s death, then they are much more powerful than we were led to believe.  I must deal with him before he escapes Acre,” Altaїr made one final adjustment to his bracer that carried his hidden blade.

“Let me go with you-“

“No,” the master assassin cut him off sharply, “the agreement between your King and I was to make sure that the Hashashin were not seen as siding with the Crusaders.  Your presence may cause word to be reached to Salah al-Din’s ears.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

Altaїr stared at him, his eyes measured and stern beneath his hood, “Continue the investigation here.  For all we know, Cyprus could be a diversion.”

Robin heard the unspoken warning that for all he knew the master assassin could have been walking into a trap himself.  But he knew that Altaїr could take care of himself, and if the Hashashin’s spies were still on Cyprus, then they would be able to provide help to him.  He nodded slowly, not exactly liking the agreement, but knowing that even if Cyprus did hold another Piece of Eden and if the one they had been following in Damascus panned out, then the Hashashin would have robbed the Templars two Pieces of Eden.

“Good luck, my friend,” he extended a hand to Altaїr, seeing surprise light up on the Rafiq’s face along with the messenger who was peering from the other room.

Altaїr took his hand into his own and shook it firmly.  “ _Safety and peace_ ,” he said in Arabic.

“ _Safety and peace._ ”

                                    *                      *                      *

Roughly a week had passed after Altaїr left Damascus and while the Rafiq had provided them with shelter, food, and any information he may have picked up, Robin sensed that without the master assassin here, the Rafiq became a bit distant towards him and Much.  However, he dared not contradict his leader’s words and provided them with all of the help they needed.  However, their last two outings to the souks had no success and Robin wondered if it was time he and Much visited the areas that Altaїr had been scouting out.

So during that night, he had asked the Rafiq to provide him with a map of the areas where books had been burning, hoping that when the new day came, they would be able to find some more information.

He and Much set out at first light towards the first area the Rafiq had pointed out that had not been fully explored by Altaїr, this time instead of carrying jars, they carried small bundles of parchment.  They made their way down the winding streets, deftly avoiding jar carriers and even beggars and peasants who begged on the side of the roads.  Once or twice, Robin had to pull Much back as a beggar tried to punch him in the face after walking a bit too close to him, but the finally managed to reach the small enclosed area.

Immediately his eyes picked out that several archers were patrolling the rooftops in this area of the city.  A sure sign of increased guards and while many of the citizens roamed the streets, they were a bit muted than the ones by the souk.  It was as if everyone was still afraid of something…perhaps Jubair’s ghost?  Or maybe because the smell of burning parchment and books still filled the air?

It seemed that even cutting off the head of the snake, the body still lived as books were still being burnt by those who followed Jubair’s rhetoric.  He noticed that they wore a distinctive set of robes, black hoods with blood-red robes embroidered with gold filigree.  These were no ordinary scholars to have such rich looking robes…  They were definitely rich with money and for them to follow such hateful rhetoric…  Robin couldn’t fathom the horror of that as he stepped up to a guard standing by the door to one of the burning piles.

“ _M-My master bid me to bring his books here.  He wishes to cleanse himself from all impurities of the words_ ,” Robin quivered his voice and kept his eyes downcast as he hefted the parchments and books that the Rafiq had given them as their cover.

The guard looked at him with an apprasing eye before glancing over at Much who was staring at the ground, holding his pile of parchments and books.  “ _And him?_ ”

“ _Our master wishes us to spread the word of his reformation to the others…he has several more he wishes us to distribute throughout the city_ ,” Robin replied, keeping his head down.  But out of the corner of his eye, he made sure that he could see all around him.

“ _Go then_ ,” the guard jerked his chin towards the entrance and Robin turned to Much.

“ _Stay here_ ,” he spoke in Arabic to his manservant but underneath the piles of parchment and books, he held his hand up to stop Much from following him.  He saw him nod, a bit puzzled, but otherwise he would obey.

He shuffled past the guard and into the courtyard.  A quick glance up made him frown slightly.  The archers were still patrolling the rooftops, but it seemed that they were intent on what was happening in this courtyard.  A small well of uneasiness filled him, but Robin resolutely ignored it and approached the fire with his parchments and books.

“ _Stop_ ,” one of the richly dressed scholars spoke up and Robin stopped, glancing up to see two of them approaching him.  “Who is your master to donate these books?”

Robin froze.  He had not expected the scholars to ask him any question, and had assumed that they would want to see someone burn more books and parchments to their cause.  Thinking quickly he ducked his head down again, “ _I dare not name him, good sir…_ ”

Suddenly one of the scholars took a book off of his hands and flipped through it, a frown on his face.  “ _These are just common books.  Tables, bureaucratic stuff…no lore, nothing._ ”

“ _My master is a merchant_ ,” the uneasiness in him grew slightly as he lied.  It was technically true that the Rafiq was a merchant, with his store front as a front for the bureau.

“ _You look familiar…_ ” the other scholar said and out of the corner of Robin’s eye, he saw more of the similarly dressed scholars approaching them.  They all had looks in their eyes that he did not like.  They were far too interested in a mere conversation that it was too eerily coincidental to be anything but that.

It was then that Robin realized that this was a trap, a set up.  That somehow, these scholars knew that someone was coming…that perhaps they even knew who he was?

“Crusader…” was the whispered hiss next to his ear and the uneasiness turned into dread.  They knew who he was…

“Much!” he shouted as he suddenly turned one-hundred and eighty degrees to face his manservant who was still outside the courtyard.  “RUN!” he yelled as he threw whatever was in his hands to the guard guarding the courtyard before the first hands grabbed onto his robes.

He barely glimpsed Much’s startled expression of shock before he yelled again, “Run!  That is an order!”

Robin pushed the hands off of him and kicked out with his legs, catching a few of the scholars off guard before kneeling on the ground and pulling out the dagger he always kept under the folds of his robes.  He slashed at a hand trying to grab onto his left arm and a cry of pain echoed in loudly in his ear.

Suddenly he felt himself choking as someone grabbed onto his head wrap and pulled, forcing his neck back before he clawed at it with his free left hand, using his right one holding his dagger to beat off the arms still grabbing onto him.

He managed to wrench free of his head piece just as stars exploded across his eyes and Robin fell to the ground, stunned.  He gasped and inhaled some of the sand and dirt on the ground, making himself choke as he felt more weight being pressed upon his whole body.  The cool metallic touch of a blade sitting upon the side of his face made him freeze before a trickle of something wet dripped down into his left eye, stinging it.  He flinched, but the blade didn’t relent and he coughed once more tasting the dripping blood down his face, trying to blink it away.

Still stunned and dazed, he thought he saw guards heading down the street, yelling about something, but no Much in sight.  Robin hoped that Much had gotten away…

“Is he the one?” he heard a voice ask in harshly accented English above him before the acrid smell of spiced spittle dropped onto his face.

“Yes, the descriptions of him in the souks match.  He is the one the new Grand Master is looking for,” was the reply.

“And of the other?”

“The Grand Master says he will deal with him when he arrives in Limassol.”

There was a slight pause before the harsh voice spoke up again.  “He is still awake.”

Renewed stars suddenly exploded in Robin’s vision before a brief flare of pain then the merciful blackness.

                                    *                      *                      *

Carter of Tulane leveled his blade in front of his eye, squinting to make sure there were no rough patches or uneven cuts along the sharpened sides of his longsword.  It was a rare opportunity for him to rest, having handed the day’s drills over to the regimental commanders of the Guards within the Fifth Column.

He made one final pass with his sharpening stone before taking the cloth by his side, dipped in oil, and started to rub along the newly sharpened blade.  The King had also not needed his services for the day which was rare.  During his years of service to the King he either had found himself commanding troops or training them in drills or was doing the King’s bidding.

It left him with hardly any time for himself, but Carter liked it that way.  He had no family waiting for him back in Tulane, his brother dead in the Holy Lands through his own foolishness, so for him to keep busy all of the time kept his mind off of things he did not want to think about.  He had sent his manservant Jordan out on some useless errand, hoping that it would keep him away for a while.

He knew Jordan meant well, but the man was most definitely too much of a mother hen at times.  Probably worst than Much and so easy to pushover too.  He also had a weak spine, having thrown up even at the mere sight of a gutted pig the men were going to put on a spit and cook for dinner.

His ears perked slightly as he heard raised voices outside near his tent, but couldn’t quite make out the words and decided to ignore the voices outside as he finished polishing his blade.  Probably soldiers excited over something or had won a bet or another he supposed, setting the oiled cloth aside and flipping his sword back and forth between his hands.  Its shiny silvery blade caught some of the sunlight peeking into his tent, making little motes of light dance around the enclosed area and Carter grinned as he twirled it once around his hands before sheathing it with a quiet smooth click.

With the blade finally done, he glanced at the entrance of his tent as the voices grew louder and sighed.  At this rate if the voices got too high, the King’s peace would be completely disturbed.  Securing his sword onto his belt, he stepped out of his tent and opened his mouth to yell at the noisemakers when he froze.

What was Much doing back from Masyaf?  And better yet, where was Robin?  He frown crossed his face as he noticed that Robin’s manservant looked extremely agitated and just about on the verge of passing out.  He was frantically waving his arms at Tomas who stood guard outside the King’s tent while grabbing at his hair.  He wore the robes of a pilgrim, but they were stained and dirtied, a sign that he had not been resting since he rode from wherever he had rode from.

Glancing to where Much probably had come from, he tried to see if Robin was following, but then again, knew that Robin would probably be the first one to enter camp before Much did.  Walking over he kept his hand firmly on the butt of his sword, wary for anything.  If there was no Robin in sight and Much was this agitated…something had to be wrong.

“Something wrong?” he asked as he approached the two and saw Much whirl to look at him, his eyes red and puffy, as if he had been crying all the way home.  “Much did you get poison ivy all over your face?” the quip fell unbidden from his lips as his customary greeting to the manservant was to rib him a little.  But there was no rejoinder or frown from Much and Carter knew that this was much more serious.

“Robin’s been kidnapped and Tomas won’t let me see the King!  He has to know!!” Much cried out, his eyes wide and frantic.  “Please!  You’re Robin’s friend; you’re the Captain of the Fifth Guard!  Please let me talk to the King!”

Carter mentally raised an eyebrow as he realized that Robin had never told anyone else his secret.  That he was the King’s personal spy…not even to Much.  But he pushed that thought aside and gripped Much by his shoulders.  “What do you mean captured?  How?  Who?  I thought the assassins were supposed to watch over the two of you.”

So help him, if that wily assassin named Altaїr, whom Carter would never trust even with his own life, much less Robin’s or the King’s, had betrayed Robin to the Saracens…to Salah al-Din.  He would personally head to Masyaf and kill the smug bastard.  He would never trust an assassin, not after what they had pulled when he and his men had been ordered to Masyaf by Robert de Sable.  They were nothing more than cowardly foxes that rather would hide and deceive then fight fairly.

The King probably also thought the same, otherwise he would have not assigned him to watch over Robin while they made their trip to Masyaf to parlay the assassins.  He did not know what his friend saw in them and was even friendly to them, but Carter knew that it was not his job to dissuade Robin from his own convictions.

“We went on a mission with Altaїr to find out more information about a potential Piece of Eden, but Altaїr left a few days before, saying that he had to go to Cyprus or something like that and left us to continue the investigation.  We went to one of the locations where Altaїr was scouting out earlier, but Master…Robin…he knew it was a trap and he told me to run.  I ran back to the bureau, I didn’t know what to do…I had to come back.  The Rafiq sent me out of the city and back to here.  I…” Much heaved a gulping breath, looking like he was about to cry and Carter placed a firm hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly.

He glanced at Tomas who looked stricken by Much’s words, but was resolutely trying to keep his composure together.  Carter didn’t know if Robin knew, but the Private Guard adored their Captain and to hear him captured was most surely a blow to morale.  Looking back at Much, he saw the smaller man quiver, trying to keep whatever was left of his own composure at bay.  “Much,” he said in a firm tone, bringing his forlorn gaze up to him, “stay out here.  I will talk with the King and he will know what to do.  You have done well, Much.  Your Master, no, Robin would be proud of you.  Do you understand?”

Much numbly nodded and Carter shook his head minutely before out of the corner of his eye, spotted Jordan returning from his errand.  “Jordan!” he called out and saw his manservant hurrying towards them.

“Yes Master?”

“Take Much back to my tent.  Clean him up and make sure he does not leave,” he let go of Much’s shoulder and saw Jordan steer him away from him and Tomas, patting him gently on the back, understanding that Much was clearly distraught over something.

Turning to Tomas, he held up a finger to the man’s face.  “Not a word to anyone else.”

“As ordered sire,” Tomas swallowed, but nodded, clearly understanding how much word Robin’s capture could be a blow to morale for the rest of the Private Guard.

Carter nodded, seeing that his immediate tasks were done and headed into the King’s tent.  He stood just inside the flaps and bowed low, seeing his King by his war table, signing away and reading a few scrolls.  “ _Milord, I have disturbing news_ ,” he said quietly in French, the King’s native language and his own.

Though his English was clearly non descript and had barely any accents in it, it was due to the fact that he had been shuttling back and forth between the northern regions of France where his family was from and to London, the main hub of the English Empire.  However, Carter felt more comfortable speaking French than English.

“ _Speak_ ,” the King did not look up from his reading, but waved a hand for him to continue.

“ _Captain Locksley’s manservant just returned with news that he has been captured by enemy forces_ ,” Carter said quietly.

There was a noticeable pause in the King’s reading before he set whatever he was reading down and looked up, expression unreadable.  “ _Enemy forces?_ ”

“ _Either Saracen or Knights Templar I do not know_ ,” Carter hated not having information like that at hand, but he also knew at the same time that Much could not be dissuaded or consoled.

“ _Where?_ ”

“ _Unknown.  The manservant did not say, but only to speak of the fact that he and Captain Locksley were aiding the leader of the assassins, Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad on a mission to find a Piece of Eden.  The assassin leader left them several days ago to pursue another mission in_ _Cyprus_ _and left them to continue the investigation._ ”

“ _Ah, so Cyprus was the most recent home of the Knights Templar_ ,” the King looked thoughtful before picking up whatever he was reading once more.  “ _We apologize Captain, but we cannot spare any men to rescue Captain Locksley.  If it was_ _Jerusalem_ _they were at, then he would be rescued in due time._ ”

“ _Milord-_ “

“ _Jaffa is close for us to take and our push to Jerusalem may be done before the winter arrives_ ,” the King said sternly, looking up at him, “ _he is but one man and we have little to no information._ ”

Carter bit his lip as he held his silence.  Underneath all of the control and stern words his King had just said, he had long recognized the disappointment of not being able to do anything to help Robin.  Too long had he been a spy for the King, having gotten so good at reading his King’s emotional state.  He knew that Robin would gladly devote his whole life and even soul for his King and that the King appreciated the loyalty he showed, even though there were at times he was angry at the Captain of his Private Guard.

But having no sons of his own, Carter noticed that the King had tried to be like a father figure to Robin, trying to reward such fealty and devotion one could give to his King.  So for the King to say those words, to leave Robin to his fate, he knew that it hurt him a lot.

A thought occurred to him…the King had said they had no information…

“ _Milord, I will go and discover what has happened_ ,” he said boldly.

The King set his parchment down again and looked at him blinking only once.  “ _I cannot spare soldiers._ ”

“ _I know that sire_ ,” Carter bowed his head slightly, “ _I am prepared to do whatever it takes._ ”

“ _Then you have our leave_ ,” the King extended his hand and Carter knelt to kiss it.

“ _It shall be done, my liege_ ,” he released the King’s hand before standing back up and spun on his heel and headed out of the tent.

“ _Captain_ ,” the King spoke up as he was about to exit and he paused, turning back around.

“ _What is it you wish?_ ”

“ _Return with him_ ,” the King murmured before turning his attention back to his books and parchments.

Carter felt the corners of his lips quirk up in a smile before nodding and heading back out.  This was his chance to repay Robin for betraying their friendship with his deception and to make things right.  He would not fail.

                                    *                      *                      *

A few days later they found themselves back in Damascus, under the guises of pilgrims and easily entered the Saracen controlled city.  It had taken him the better part of the day to calm Much down before explaining to him that he was going to help him rescue Robin, and to take him to where they had been working out of the assassin bureau.  He needed to have a little _chat_ with the Rafiq of the bureau.

The two of them worked their way deeper into the city, Carter catching snatches of Arabic from passerby and guard patrols.  He kept a sharp eye on his surroundings, pulling his hood forward a bit more to cover his blond hair.  The only disadvantage he had while working as the King’s spy in the Holy Lands was that his blond hair and blue eyes easily gave him away as a Crusader.

He looked curiously at a store front that Much seemed intent on heading to.  There was nothing special about the storefront, but as they drew closer, he saw one of the shopkeepers wave to him and Much, well more to Much than anyone else and they stopped in front of him.

The shopkeeper immediately jabbered at them in Arabic and Carter’s eyebrows crinkled together before he glanced at Much to see him shaking his head rapidly, not even understanding a single word the man said.

“He said that he is glad you have returned and that Altaїr has just arrived in Damascus and is talking to the Rafiq,” Carter translated quietly to Much before Robin’s manservant turned a wide-eyed gaze to him.

“You know Arabic?!”

“A little,” he shrugged, not really wanting to get into the details.  He knew even more of the language than Robin did and spoke it like a native speaker instead of haltingly and slowly like Robin did – though during the negotiations at Masyaf, he heard improvements in Robin’s Arabic.  As a spy for the King, he had been required to learn a host of languages, from the guttural Germanic to variations of English and even the forms of Gaelic.  Italian, Latin, and of course at least five variations of the French language spoken in the provincial regions.

It was he who had refined Robin’s Arabic when he had taken Captaincy of the Private Guard and wanted to make sure that the civilians that had been evacuated were safe and would not be harmed.

“ _May we enter?_ ” he asked, keeping his voice tight, but polite.

The shopkeeper stared at him in surprise before glancing at Much who apparently nodded to him that he was with him and gestured for them to come in.  Much bobbed his head to thank the shopkeeper before leading him deeper into the store.

As they closed one door behind them, Carter unwrapped the cloths covering his head, stuffing it into one of the many pockets of his dusty robe he wore over his chainmail, emblem and weapons he had brought with him.  He saw Much do the same before opening the door to the next room and Carter saw the distinctive set of robes, weaponry, and red sash that marked Altaїr for who he was.

The anger at what the assassin had did, for abandoning Robin, for running off to find a trinket and not even honor the agreement.  For even putting his friend in harm’s way after he had swore to make sure Robin was safe and would return safely from the Holy Lands, not because of the King’s orders, but because his friend was too kind-hearted, too noble, to let himself waste away in such a filthy land.  All of the anger and fury in him snapped and he found himself surging forward, arm outstretched, intent on shoving the smug assassin into the nearest wall and demanding answers.

However, that was not the case as just as suddenly he saw Altaїr turn with lightning fast speed, a glint of something in his left hand before Carter froze, eyes darting to the knife that slid out of the bracer on the assassin’s left arm.  The knife did not plunge into him, yet hovered dangerously near his jugular.

“Do not presume to attack me like the ignorant Crusader you are,” Altaїr’s eyes flashed darkly.

Carter said nothing, glaring at the assassin, daring him to plunge the blade into him, to kill him.  Instead, he suddenly found himself violently shoved backwards before the blade sheathed back into its cleverly concealed hiding place and Altaїr shook his head at him before turning back to the Rafiq who had stayed silent through the small confrontation.

“ _Give me one good reason why I should not cut your throat assassin for abandoning Captain Locksley and reneging on the peace treaty you signed with the King_ ,” Carter growled out in Arabic, making the Rafiq stare at him in surprise, but if the smug assassin was surprised at his ability to speak their language, he did not show it.

“ _What of the information you have?  Have our brothers-_ “

“ _Hey!  You will answer me-_ “

“I did not abandon Robin of Locksley as you have so claimed.  He knew full well the risks we undertook to find the Pieces of Eden.  Through the information gathered in the past week since he has gone missing, we have discovered that it was a trap set by the Knights Templars.  _Your_ vaunted order,” Altaїr said in a deadly quiet voice his accent coloring his English, but his glare burned into Carter who gritted his teeth, furious.

“They are not my order,” he hissed back.  “They are traitors to the crown.”

“There was enough information or even a part of the Piece of Eden here, but the Templars had lured us in here-” Altaїr continued, ignoring him.

“ _So even the assassins could be lured by false information_ ,” Carter sneered, inwardly smiling darkly at the glare the Rafiq sent to him for his words.  However, he wanted to wipe the smugness from the bastard of an assassin’s face, but after that little display with the hidden blade in the left bracer, he knew that Altaїr would be on guard around him.

“-and that they have moved Robin to Acre,” Altaїr was resolute ignoring his insults and Carter opened his mouth to say another one at him when the assassin’s words registered with him.

Acre?!  His surprise and shock must have shown on his face as he saw the hint of an arrogant smile appear on the assassin’s lips, having succeeded in derailing him from even speaking.

“Where?” he finally managed to ground out.

“I do not know, it is a question _I_ will ask the bureau when _I_ get there,” he did not miss the emphasis of I and of his own mission to find Robin.

“You are not going to Acre without me,” Carter replied, “the King has specifically tasked me to find Robin and bring him back to camp.”

“And me too!” Much spoke up behind him, but Carter ignored him for the moment.

“ _Altaїr, as much as it pains me to say this because of the insults he has hurled upon our Brotherhood, he is correct that he may be useful in finding out information in_ _Acre_ _.  Even our best spies there do not have full control over the city_ ,” the Rafiq spoke up quietly in Arabic.

“ _Do not even think to use me in that manner, assassin_ ,” Carter did not like the implied statement, but understood what the Rafiq was getting at.  Even if he did conduct his own search without the assassins’ help, even if he was still considered a Knights Templar member and had access to inside information, it would still be hard to find the location of a single prisoner, especially considering that the Knights Templar wanted to trap Robin.

Plus it had been known through the others of the order that he had refused to fight for their leader, Robert de Sable and knew that many in the traitorous order frowned upon that.  They would not be so reluctant to give him such information to find Robin.

He pressed his lips tightly before deciding to swallow his pride, for now, and extended a hand out to Altaїr, unable to discern his expression under his hood.  “I will work with you to see to the safety of Robin of Locksley returned to the King’s service, but only for that.”

 There was a pregnant pause and Carter started to feel like a fool for extending his hand out the assassin.  He was not going to take the hand, but probably was preparing to spit upon it.  Assassins, they were all the same, no matter where in the empires he had visited over the years.  They were nothing more than-

“Until he is returned to safety.  Then this alliance between you and I will be dissolved,” Altaїr surprised him by suddenly grasping his hand and releasing it quickly.  He turned to the Rafiq, “ _We ride to_ _Acre_ _.  Inform the bureau master we will arrive within a day._ ”

“ _As you wish it done Altaїr_ ,” the Rafiq replied grimly.

Carter smiled a tight smile as the assassin brushed past him and headed back out of the door.  He followed him, gesturing to Much to join them as they made their way out of the dusty, sandy city of Damascus.  Now they were getting somewhere…

                                    *                      *                      *

**Author’s Notes:**

            Like many of the more modern Robin Hood mythologies, with the exception of the TV show, there has always been Robin either captured or imprisoned in Jerusalem somewhere before he returns to England.  Usually it is a source of quiet contemplation for the character himself and so using the more modern myths, I’ve come up with my version of Robin’s imprisonment in the Holy Lands – except not in Jerusalem.  Those who have read my other stories set within the BBC _Robin Hood_ universe may recognize the latter scene in which Robin describes to Marian his imprisonment found at the end of _The Assassin’s Gift_.

            Next part will describe that particular scene in full detail which will become quite graphic at times (more along the lines of bloody violence).

            There are little to no historical notes in this chapter surprisingly, having written this whole thing by meshing what we’ve learned in the TV series, my own imagination of how this story should proceed, and what we know from _Assassin’s Creed_ , _Assassin’s Creed II’s_ Codex, and _Assassin’s Creed: Bloodlines_.  The scene where Altaїr leaves for Cyprus is prelude to the events of _AC: Bloodlines_ and he returns after two weeks or so.

            The minor historical note I should point out is more related to _AC: Bloodlines_ than anything else, but it is implied by the creators of the game that Altaїr’s mission to assassinate Armand Bouchart the newest leader of the Knights Templar, ended up destabilizing the Templar presence on Cyprus and therefore the populace was able to revolt against their rulers and establish a new government.

            I also want to take the time to point out Carter, who is probably one of the rare things that I liked in _Robin Hood’s_ Season 2.  He’s the same exact character from the episode “ _Get Carter!_ ” and “ _We Are Robin Hood_ ,” with a few background changes and storyline changes.

            There are two more parts left to this story including the scene where Robin almost gives his life for the King in the flashback of “ _Tattoo, What Tattoo?_ ”  Thank you to all readers, reviewers, and my beta reader for sticking with this story and I hope to see you at my next part!


	7. Part 7: Pieces

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).  **Words in foreign languages (Arabic, French, and German) will be _italicized_ throughout this story.**

 

**_Author’s Warning:_ **

**This part may be considered a strong PG-13/R rating due to the graphical nature of torture and fighting.  You have been warned for those who are squeamish about blood and dismemberment of sorts.**

**Story:**

_Part 7 - Pieces_

 

The twitch of his left hand sent a blaze of fiery pain coursing through his arm and down into his body.  Robin stiffened at the pain, wondering why would his left hand hurt when his eyes shot open and he heaved a heavy gasp, sending more shooting pain all throughout his body.  The last thing he remembered was his face on the dusty ground of one of the courtyards holding a book burning pile.  He had been captured by Saracen scholars who were dressed in finery that he did not recognize.  He remembered telling Much to run, to save himself as he was being subdued.

Robin grimaced as he lifted his head up and tried to get a good look at his surroundings.  Drawing a shallow breath, he winced as he felt a sharp lancing ache near the right side of his chest.  His back hurt from something that he could not identify.  It was as if his whole body was aflame with unending agony no matter how little he tried to move.  He also tasted the bitter coppery metallic taste he had long associated with blood.  His bleary eyes tried to focus and he saw shadows, flickering and dancing along some unbeaten path that he could not fathom.

His mind took a second to supply him with the answer.  Torch lights.  Which meant he was probably underground or in a room with no way of getting natural sunlight.  The harsh creak of something metallic on metallic, followed by a course of fiery pain through his arm made him glance down to see that his hands were bound in chains.  His pain-addled mind also supplied him with what was hurting his back.

He couldn’t feel the cool stone in the back of his head, but could feel every single rough surface, every little grain of rock pressing against his back where he had been propped up against the stonework.  Drawing another shallow breath and suppressing the wince of pain, he tried to move, but gasped out loud as he felt like his whole body exploded.

“Do not…move,” a harsh whisper of a heavily accented English spoke up somewhere to his left and he looked into the flickering, inky darkness to try to place the source of the voice.  But the harsh clanging of chains followed by a face emerging from the darkness made him draw back.

He was definitely Arabic looking, coarse short back hair, and dark eyes along with tanned brown skin.  But his teeth were yellow, broken, and he looked half starved.

“You, Crusader, yes?” the man approached him, not quite hovering over him, but not quite close to him either.  Even with the shallow breaths he was drawing, Robin could smell the acrid stink of his breath and nearly gagged.

“They give you drink, make you feel,” the man gestured to his bonds and then to his own.  “Give everyone drink…”  The Arab man gestured outwards and Robin could barely make out small moving shapes along with some whimpers.  He realized that the moving shapes were other people, chained up like he was.  This was a prison…

“W-Where…” Robin nearly gasped, trying to move his jaw to speak, but tried to push past the pain that coursed along his jaw line, “where…a-am I?”

The Arabic man laughed, a harsh jarring sound before shaking his head, making the chains on his hands and feet jingle echo discordantly in the room.  A cavernous room, a part of Robin’s mind spoke to him, to have such an echo.  “Jerusalem?  Damas?  Tyre?”

Robin looked away, a well of despair filling him.  This man did not know where they were and for all he knew, he could still be in Damacus, or even held in Jerusalem.  He suspected probably more likely Jerusalem, since it was a Saracen stronghold.  Had he been captured by Salah al-Din’s forces?  But those burning books were suspected to be Knights Templar, or at least followers of Jubair Al Hakim.  Did they bring Salah al-Din into the fold of the Knights Templar?

But it didn’t make sense for Saracens to capture their own, especially with this Arabic man in front of him.  Robin’s thoughts swirled in a mass of confusion as he tried to figure out the pieces, but with the pain shooting through him through each breath he took, it was hard to concentrate.

Suddenly the Arab man scurried away in a clash of jangling chains and Robin looked up to see where he was going before the muffled sound of booted feet followed by the appearance of people in black robes emerging from the inky darkness.  He blearily looked up at them, a twinge of fear running through him.  These were probably his captors…and in the flickering torchlight they looked completely sinister in their black robes and black head covers.

“What-“ Robin never got to finish his question as two of them suddenly seized him by his arms, making him cry out as renewed pain seized across his body.  He didn’t have time to think anymore as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through the waves of agony that ran up and down his body, immobilizing him as he felt himself being hauled up and dragged across the cavernous room.

He couldn’t see where he was going, trying to make his himself focus on one thing, to block everything out, but after what seemed like an eternity of sharp shooting bolts of knives raking across his body, he felt his arms being dragged upwards, the chains on his arms bound above his head.  His feet, still in their boots, danced across the floor, barely touching the stonework.

He opened his eyes to see a small sliver of light, pouring down through a crack above him.  He couldn’t quite tell if it was either sunlight or moonlight, but that thought was like the dull throb of pain that echoed all along his body.  It still hurt to take shallow breaths, but by now, he thought he was used to the pain.

“Don’t get too complacent,” a voice, most definitely English, spoke in his ear before a wave of burning torture shot across his abdomen and Robin involuntarily yelped out and tried to shy his body away.

He looked down to see a red-hot poker removing itself from his bare skin, having gouged a hole through whatever remained of his shirt.  He could still feel the clawing pain, magnified a thousand-fold, and grimaced.

The person holding the poker laughed in the darkness before stepping forward.  He too was dressed in all black; the only thing showing was his brown eyes, crinkled in evil mirth.

“W-What…do you want?” Robin gasped out, a shudder wracking his body.

“Why do you seek the Piece?” the voice asked.

“Knights Templars?” he snarled before he felt the burning pain flash through his stomach and cried out, trying to pull himself backwards, to get away from it.  “G-Guess not…” he gasped out quietly, feeling oddly fatalistic.  A part of his mind knew that they had to be Knights Templar; especially their first question to him was regarding the Piece of Eden.

“Why do you seek the Piece?” the voice repeated its question.

This time, Robin stayed silent, glaring out into the darkness, or rather towards where the bright red-orange poker was held in front of him.  He felt his body swing back and forth from his previous attempt to stop the poker from burning his skin.  But there was nothing he could do to stop his momentum and thus felt every pull of his shoulders and muscles.  The sharp stinging pain spread fresh through his mind, dulling all of the other pain, including what was probably some serious burn marks now on his abdomen area.

“You will answer, Crusader,” this time a new voice spoke up, his English heavily accented with what Robin faintly recognized as a Germanic tinge.

He stayed silent, daring them to burn him again.  He thought he saw movement in the dim darkness.  Then suddenly a small bright light lit up in a hand, illuminating and bathing it in an eerily bright and unholy glow.  Robin could faintly make out the small outline of something that looked the size of a pebble in the hand.  But the glow made him want to close his eyes and shy away.

Somehow, a part of him told him that this was not a glow to look at, that it would befall many harmful things upon him.  Yet…the light was mesmerizing…  It called to him, beckoned to him…

“Do it,” he barely heard the words as his eyes found themselves drawn to what was in the hand.

Robin suddenly doubled over as he saw stars explode in front of his vision.  He screamed as his body was on fire, racing claws of agony running up and down from his stomach as he could smell the burn of charred flesh.  It curled up his nose as he writhed under the intense torture of the red-hot poker jabbed into his flesh.  He felt his muscles contract and release of their own will before an unholy light blinded his vision.

Surprisingly, he immediately felt the pain wracking his body dull and greedily looked at the light, hoping for some purchase from it, someway to keep it at bay.  But a part of his mind rebelled, trying to turn him away from staring at the light.  It screamed at him that this was evil, this was not right…that none of it was right.  That he had to submit to the pain.  But why should he submit, when there was relief there?

Robin bit his lip, feeling the pain slowly return, the dulling effect losing its hold on him.  No!  He wanted the escape from the pain!  He needed it…

The unholy bright light shattered into a million pieces as he suddenly found himself back, still hanging by his arms, his feet barely touching the ground.  He gave a choked cry, unable to recognize the animalistic sound that emerged from his lips.  It felt like someone had ripped away a part of him, a lover of sorts, yet, strangely he felt relieved.  He coughed, feeling his chest seize before a hand grabbed his jaw and squeezed it open.  Robin felt a liquid of sorts, fiery, burning, pour down his throat.  He shook his head, trying to break free of the hold on his jaw as he knew that whatever was in his mouth was not water.  He couldn’t swallow it-

Robin choked and gasped as he felt a solid punch connect with his stomach, making whatever burn marks he had down there pull painfully and he involuntarily swallowed the liquid concoction that his captors had poured into him.  The liquid burned all the way down.  Dizzied from his efforts at resisting his captors, he felt the hand release his jaw and he let his head hang, exhausted.

He could feel himself slowly slipping into unconsciousness, the liquid still burning a trail down his throat and his body gave an involuntary shudder, as if to protest once before falling silent.  He eagerly grasped at the blackness, knowing that somehow, this was the only real place that could provide him with relief from what had just happened to him.

As if granting his wish, the blackness swallowed him up and took away the pain and torture.

                                    *                      *                      *

Altaїr had little trouble entering Acre, especially with the newest Regent, Conrad of Montferrat in charge of the city.  Unlike his father, Conrad was having more trouble with the populace and thus his soldiers were more occupied in making sure the citizens of the city did not cause any disturbance than to bother two scholars and a Crusader escorting them from entering the city.

The Crusader was obviously Carter, to whom Altaїr was indifferent to, but would not even trust him in a heartbeat if it was not for their temporary truce made back in Damascus.  The other scholar was Robin’s loyal servant, Much, dressed in robes procured by the Rafiq of Damascus for their quick journey to Acre.  Once they had entered, Altaїr quickly lead them to the bureau in the city, entering from the storefront rather than from the rooftops.

The Rafiq of the bureau had been surprised, a spry old man whom Altaїr had heard words of encouragement from him he had proceeded with his missions in the city, to see him enter in from the storefront entrance until he saw that Much and Carter were with him.  Immediately he understood what he was here for and had quickly given him the necessary information and informants that had collected the information.

Of all of the bureau leaders, Malik not withstanding, Altaїr knew that the Rafiq of Acre was the one who understood the importance and necessary need to rescue Robin from the trap the Knights Templar had set up for him.  It was he who had told him of the information seen by their informants regarding Robin, and he who had recognized the bravery, loyalty, and most of all, the willingness to learn from others different than he that made Altaїr extend such measure of trust to Robin when they finally met.

The Rafiq had pointed him to the informant who had more information on Robin’s whereabouts and told him that the bureau would dedicate all of its resources to him to make sure that they find him.  He had thanked him and was now on his way to see the informant, Much and Carter following behind him.

He was familiar with the name the Rafiq had given him and knew where she would be located this late in the afternoon.  As he made his way deeper into the city, passing by the awe-inspiring Cathedral of the Holy Cross, he glanced up at its topmost spire, a brief unbidden smile flitting across his face.  While he had been in the middle of his investigation to kill William of Montferrat, on a probable remnant of a childish whim, he had decided to try to scale the impressive building.  At times it had been precarious, but once he had gotten to the top spire, balancing himself against the high winds that high and looking around the whole city, the view had been majestic.

The only hitch which had just passed briefly in his mind, was timing his leap of faith to the haystack he had seen on one side of the Cathedral.  However, he had made it with relative ease.

“You know, my Master told me that anyone who climbed up there is probably doom to suicide…” Much started conversationally and Altaїr glanced at him, blinking only once before he saw the look of horror and incredulousness pass through the soft man’s face.  “You climbed it?!”

“Yes,” he replied quietly.

He saw Much look back and forth between him and the Cathedral and back to him before shaking his head.  “Robin’s not going to believe this…”

There was a soft snort of laughter behind him as Carter tried to muffle it before they continued on and Altaїr wondered if the man did have a sense of humor.  Leaving the thought at that, he continued into the winding streets, and just as they almost reached the massive open area before the Citadel, he turned down another street.  A few buildings ahead was the familiar rose-gold sheets covering the awning of the house.

Whenever his missions took him to Acre, he had occasionally patroned the brothel, either to check for information or for his own pleasure, but that had been a long time ago.  The last time he went here was before Adha had been captured and subsequently executed.

“Wait a second…” Much spoke up behind him and he turned slightly to look at him, curious.  “We’ve been here…”

Altaїr hid a faint smile as he turned back around and nodded to the fellow enforcer outside the brothel who clearly recognized him and gave him a wide smile of greeting before gesturing with his eyes to the two others.  He gave the burly man a small nod of confirmation that Much and Carter were with him before entering the house.

Immediately the aroma of incense, perfumes, and a dusky, slightly acrid smell of sweat filled the air.  Altaїr did not lower his hood, but his eyes scanned the area for the person he was looking for.

“Great, a whore house,” Carter muttered behind him, but he ignored the jibe.  The Crusader could think of what he wanted of this place, but besides highly trained assassins, informants and the like beside himself, the best source of information he knew of was brothels.  Where men and women of position usually wanted the company of others and more often than not, spilled their secrets to their partners, believing them to be a kindred soul.

“I know this place!” Much, however, sounded a bit more agitated.

“As you should, Much,” the low, alto voice of the Mother of the House, spoke up to his left and Altaїr saw her walking towards them.  She was dressed modestly, but no amount of modesty could make anyone else from staring at how tight she wore the clothes covering her body.

Altaїr, however, found himself immune to her seductive and sexual charge she exuded.  It wasn’t the business that brought him here, but rather, he longed for someone else…

Kalilah turned to him and bowed her head, “Welcome, Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad.  I would ask for your reason to be here, but I believe I already know.”

“The Rafiq said you may have information regarding the whereabouts of Robin of Locksley?” he asked quietly.

He saw a flicker of emotion cross Kalilah’s eyes before she frowned, “That explains the increase in Templar presence here in Acre…”  She gestured for them to follow her into another room and they did so.  As soon as the doors were closed to a smaller and much more private room, Altaїr figured that at this hour, her customers would be arriving soon; she bit her lip before looking at them.  “My girls have been asking around discreetly, but ever since the death of Robert de Sable, many of the Crusaders here have been extremely agitated.”

“Understandable,” Altaїr knew the risks informants put themselves in to find out the necessary information for assassin to carry out their missions.  More often than not, in his own investigations of the deaths of the nine Templars in the three cities, he had come across a few of the bureau’s informants trying to hide from the Templars pursuing them.

“The deaths of three of the leaders of the Knights Orders in Acre has not helped matters,” the backhanded compliment was directed at him, with a crooked smile, but she resumed her serious look before looking at Much, “I am sorry, Much, if I had known that Robin was missing…”

“Not your fault,” Much mumbled, looking down for a second before a bewildered expression crossed his face, “You really are part of the assa-the Hashashin?”

“Yes,” Kalilah replied kindly.  She turned back to him, “My girls had thought that the increase in Templars were due to Conrad of Montferrat taking over his father’s position as Regent.”

“The King appointed him when no suitable candidate could be found, but he is not a Knights Templar,” Carter interrupted Kalilah and Altaїr looked at him curiously, wondering how he would know unless…

Based on the information he knew about the ill-willed Crusader, Carter was part of Robert de Sable’s forces, yet, was in the trust of the King and of Robin.  He had refused to participate in the battle of the ten Templar lieutenants of de Sable when he had slaughtered them at the Battle of Arsuf.  And also claimed to be a Knights Templar and had easily identified the man named Eric when he and the other Crusader, Andrew, tried to escape Masyaf after unsuccessfully stealing the Piece of Eden.

A small sense of renewed respect for Carter filled Altaїr as he realized that the man while part of the Knights Templar, was also a double agent for the King.  Probably deep undercover, but nonetheless, a double agent.  But for him to risk his own status to associate himself with the Hashashin…very bold and dangerous indeed.  And it emphasized that the King deeply respected Robin and that Robin himself had a truer friend than he could ever know.

“How do you-“

“But it was not due to Conrad’s appointment,” Altaїr cut Much off before Carter could make up another excuse and saw a quick expression of surprise flit across the man’s face.  However, he ignored it and instead focused on the matron of the brothel a silent signal for her to continue.

“Yes,” if Kalilah was surprised by his interruption, she did not show it, “I had one of my girls look closer into the increase in guards and through her rounds in both the Hospitalier fortress and the Citadel, she overheard some of the guards saying something about a no communication with the Grand Master in recent days.”

“Cyprus?” Carter raised an eyebrow at him and Altaїr nodded once.  The only reply he got was a wolfish smile from the fair-haired Crusader.

“Altaїr?” Kalilah was confused and by the looks of it, so was Much.

“The newest Grand Master of the Knights Templars was Armand Bouchart who was in Cyprus.  He has been dealt with,” Altaїr shrugged.

Kalilah nodded and he saw her filing that information away mentally in her head.  The woman, though part of the Brotherhood of Assassins, was not exactly part of the hierarchy that reported to the Rafiq of the city.  Each of the brothels controlled by the Hashashin operated independently and covertly, always a source of information, yet keeping secrets of their own due to their patrons.

Al Mualim had allowed such secrecy to thrive and nurture the brothels, but Altaїr was wondering if he should at least change some of the rules to make sure that any and all information that passed through their informants, prostitutes or not, be reported directly back to him.  The complacency the Hashashin had fallen into had made their former leader into one of their most hated enemies.  To prevent that from ever happening again in any level, he knew that there had to be changes in the way they operated.

“Did the girl mention anything else?” he asked the mother of the house.

“She said she heard a mention of trapping an important prisoner, to whom now I believe to be Robin of Locksley, but anything else I do not know.  She will return soon from her rounds.  May I suggest-“

The sudden loud commotion followed by something crashing and thumping heavily into a wall startled the four of them from their conversation and Kalilah immediately opened the door, stepping out of the room, her mouth firm and set in a frown.  Altaїr followed her out along with Much and Carter and immediately halted as he surveyed the surprising scene taking place in front of him in the main parlor area.

“You, little girl, have the nastiest habit of getting into trouble,” a very familiar woman, dressed in the browns and khakis of the local peasantry, said, glaring downwards at another young woman, who had obviously been flung against a table and was bracing herself against it, all the while glaring at her.

The plainly dressed woman arched an imperious eyebrow at Kalilah, “You are the matron of this whore house?”

“I am Kalilah, mother of this brothel,” Kalilah replied icily, “what quarrel do you have with Janan here?”

“Nothing,” she replied before tossing another glare at Janan who looked like she was suffering from a bleeding cut on her head and several scratches up and down her arms.  Her rose-colored dress, hemmed with gold filigree, was rumpled and dirt streaked in place along with several jagged scratches, leaving one to wonder what had happened to her.  “Just a rescue for someone who could have died again had it not had been for my efforts.”

“ _She_ is the one who ordered her men to have their way with me all those weeks ago!” Janan had managed to prop herself into a standing position, though leaning heavily on the end table.

“Because you would not talk you silly little girl!” the woman shot back sarcastically, “oh just patch her up already before she bleeds more into the pretty carpet here.”

Altaїr could see the tension rising in the room between Kalilah, Janan, and the guard outside the brothel to whom had cracked the door open to see what was going on.  He knew that Janan was probably the girl that Kalilah had told them was returning soon, and he was glad that she had been found before anyone could harm her.  Stepping forward and putting himself between all three women, he gave each one of them an even look.

“The quarrel stops now,” he especially gave Janan a serious look and saw her eyes widen in surprise as she recognized him and the numerous weaponry he wore.  Seeing that one of the three was pacified, he looked to the woman and gave her a faint smile, shaking his head slightly.

“Maria,” he greeted quietly, noting the distinctive curl her lips wore when she was in a light teasing mood.

“Altaїr,” she replied back just as coolly before gesturing to the spaciously decorated main parlor, “you leave me in this city with vague instructions to wait for you and here I find you in a whore house.  If you wanted to bed a whore, then you could have told me.”

This time Altaїr felt a pulse of anger fill him at her implied slight.  She too must have seen the anger in his eyes as she quickly filled the gap between them and rested a hand on his shoulder, “I apologize, I did not mean any harm to my words.”  He frowned, staring down at her for a few seconds before nodding once to accept her apology.

“You two know each other?!” Much’s exclamation brought the two of them to stare at him.

“Who are you?” Maria asked, scrutinizing Much who looked a bit bewildered.

“I’m Much, you know, I with my master Robin rescued Janan,” Much pointed to the wounded girl, “from you!  What are _you_ doing here?”

“I do not remember you,” Maria replied, but Altaїr caught the slight hint of teasing under her voice, “but I do remember a Captain Robin of the Private Guard.  Caught me off guard too with his actions…”

“Yeah, but what are you doing with the assassins?  You’re a Templar!” Much continued and Altaїr flicked his eyes to Janan and Kalilah as both gasped in surprise.  He tightened the grip he had on Maria’s shoulder, ready to intercede on her behalf should she falter in her explanation to them.

When he had chased after Maria on Cyprus all those weeks ago besides his mission to kill Armand Bouchart, he had saved her on more than one occasion after she had discovered her Knights Templar brethren had abandoned her, seeing her as nothing but Robert de Sable’s woman.  By the time Bouchart was dead, she decided to defect to the Hashashin and fight against her former comrades.  After their return to Acre, he had explained to her that it would take time to convince the others within the Hashashin senior leadership that she was a Templar no more, considering that many still viewed her as de Sable’s steward.

Now was as good time as any to explain to some of the Hashashin and others who doubted her allegiance that she was one of them.  He saw her eyes flicker towards him and he gave her an encouraging smile, a private smile shared between the two of them.

She turned back to Much, but was addressing the others in the room, “I _was_ a Templar.  I was discarded and nearly killed by people whom I had thought were allies.  They saw me as nothing more than Robert de Sable’s whore.  I was not important to their plans, to their armies, and no force, not even King Richard’s armies would take a woman in.  Altaїr showed me the deceptive practices and the betrayal that they would inflict upon others using the Piece of Eden so I have decided to help him and the rest of the Hashashin.”

“Pretty words,” Carter emerged from the shadows of the room they had been in, a skeptical look on his face, “can you really prove them?  Or are you just a spy for the Templars within the Assassin Order?”

“I could ask the same of you, Captain Tulane,” Maria’s voice was neutral, “last I checked, the Captain of the Fifth Column was a Knights Templar, was he not?”

“Only in name,” Carter replied just as icily, “the assassin and I are working towards mutual interests.”

“You two know each other?” Much again, looked completely lost and helpless and Altaїr wondered if the man knew the word of subtly.  That there were times for questions and this was most definitely not one of those.  But a part of him was curious and surprised that Maria knew Carter.

“Not the time for that conversation Much,” he barely heard the mutter from Carter before Robin’s servant looked a bit ashamed at blurting out whatever was on his mind at the moment.

“ _She truly has turned from the Templars?_ ” Kalilah asked in Arabic and Altaїr nodded.  “ _Miracles upon miracles…_ ” the mother of the brothel looked a bit unconvinced, but he knew that she would obey his words as the leader of the Hashashin.  Turning to Janan, she shook her head and clucked her tongue against her teeth.  “Janan, what did you do now?” she asked, switching back to English.

“Your girl here, got a little too deep and nosy with some of the guards at the Citadel,” the tension in the room had been eased slightly and the quiet close of the front door, told Altaїr that the guard had resumed his duties, seeing no one needed his protective services.

“I just asked if the prisoners needed my services,” Janan sniffed, as Kalilah approached her and began to dab some of her bloodier wounds with a handkerchief she had produced from the folds of her dress.

“There is a prison under the Citadel?” Altaїr asked.

“No,” Maria shrugged, “as far as I remember, no, but it still doesn’t mean that there is a prison located somewhere else in the city.  Conrad of Montferrat thinks he may rule the city, but all of his underlings are Templar brought and paid for.  I still have contacts within the Templars who may be able to give us some information to see if Robin of Locksley is really in Acre or held in another city.”

“Please do so,” he knew that it was a risk, but one he was willing to take.

“Tell me first though, how did you know that it was a Templar trap?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“The Rafiq of Damascus told me of what transpired,” Altaїr knew his next words would have to be very careful.  “I believe it is because of my own investigations into the remnant works of Jubair Al Hakim that caused them to be on alert.  Further questioning revealed that the men that had been waiting in ambush to Robin had been watching him in the souks ever since we had departed Masyaf.  They were on orders to deliver either him or I to the newest Grand Master of the Templars.”

“That means-“ Carter looked at him, eyes narrowed.

“There are still spies within the Brotherhood,” he cut Carter off, “those who still serve the Templars.”

“But how could that be?  All of our Brothers and Sisters know of the circumstance to which Al Mualim had betrayed us all,” Kalilah frowned.

“Al Mualim fell to the same temptations, who is to say no other man would too?” he countered and saw the woman furrow her brow in deep thought.  “If these Templars are awaiting their next orders from the Grand Master, then they do not know that Armand Bouchart is dead yet.  We may still have time.”

“Rescue Robin?” Much asked, looking hopeful.

Altaїr wanted to agree, but the part of him that was the leader of the Hashashin and Al Mualim’s greatest student was still too proud to admit that it was a rescue effort, or for that matter, admit it at all.  He preferred to think of it as a different solution.  “Strike the killing blow to the Templars.”

                                    *                      *                      *

The cold and bitter tasting water hit Robin in the face, startling him from the blackness of unconsciousness.  He gasped and stifled a scream as his whole body twisted and bucked from the abrupt wake-up call.  His breath coming in gasps, he blinked as the foul water dripped down his face and matted hair, before his head was roughly hauled up and he stared at a black cloth covered face, the dark eyes shining with malice.

“ _Welcome back to the land of the living, Crusader_ ,” the harsh tone was spoken in Arabic.

His vision exploded into a white light and Robin squinted, wincing as he tried to shy away, but with the hand still grabbing his hair, he could not move his head.  His ears picked up on a static hissing noise that seemed to overpower everything and he tried to clasp his hands against it, but the abrupt halt of the chains holding his hands to the sides of the walls prevented him from doings so.  He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that somehow, to stare at the unholy light was to lose himself in something even more sinister and evil.

Over the static, he heard something spoken in Arabic, but could not make it out until he felt rough fingers on his face and his eyes were forcibly pried open.  Robin tried to bite the hands off, anything to stop him from staring at the light, but the firm grip on his head halted that effort.

He let out a choked yell as pain erupted from his stomach and spread across his abdomen.  His eyes watered as he tried to bend against the pain, but between his restraints, he could not find the purchase he needed.  He barely heard another command in Arabic or was it English, at this point he could not tell, but found another hand forcibly prying his jaw open before the same foul liquid poured into his throat.

The hand then suddenly jammed itself against the bottom of his jaw, forcing him to close his mouth and he choked, spitting a few drops out, but the hand clamped down upon his cheeks and nose, forcing him to swallow the liquid lest be choked to death by a combination of lack of oxygen and gag reflex.  Dizziness assaulted him as he could feel the poison working its way through his system and he felt weak as the unholy light continued to assault him.

His head lolled to the side, as much as it could with the hand still holding his head upright, as he could see blurs now, a myriad of colors, all of them approaching him, closer and closer.  He thought he could see the sharp glint of knives, daggers, something...or was it sharp teeth?  It was there, beyond the light, something in that that he needed to grasp at...

He tried to reach out, a part of him knowing that it was a salvation of sorts...  It would take the pain that he felt throughout his whole body and within himself, it would help him...

He did not know what it would help him with...but...it would help him...

He needed it...needed whatever was beyond that light...within the light...

No!  He could not succumb to the light!

Robin whimpered as he felt himself seemingly pulled in two different directions.  He tried to reason within, that whatever was beyond the light, in the light, whatever it was; it was their road to salvation.  Their road to freedom!  It was their only chance.  The rebellious part of him considered it before after a pause, nodded its assent.  It only gave one condition though, all obstacles must be eliminated.  Everything.  There was to be no mercy.  Nothing would stop them...they would be the dragon that would be their salvation.

They would kill anyone who stood in their way.

“What is it you wish me to do?” Robin felt his cracked and bleeding lips whisper.

There was an excited smattering of Arabic, English, even French and German, that he could not catch as he felt the hands release him and he sagged against his restraints.  He did not care how much his arms and body protested against such movement; each spark of pain, racing up and down his nerves only fuel the animalistic desire to kill.

Suddenly he felt the hot metal on his skin release and he collapsed almost boneless to the ground, but barely caught himself before he could completely fall.  He felt hands pulling at him, urging him to stand and he did so with the utmost reluctance.  His blurry vision could barely make out the shadows in the darkness, but for some odd reason, in his mind, he could see each one of them as clear as day.  It was a puzzling matter, but one that he shunted to the side as inconsequential as he was shoved forward and lead somewhere.

As he stumbled along, he saw a bright light coming from one of his captor's hands and the dragon within laughed darkly.  This was his goal...and it wanted it.  He needed whatever was in that hand and he would get it, but...not yet, it cautioned.  Not yet...

Robin allowed himself to smile slightly...a death's mask smile.

He would escape...he would not be denied his freedom.

                                    *                      *                      *

Acre was unlike any of the other cities in the Holy Lands, Altaїr knew that for a fact.  For one, the stink of blood and rotting bodies still permeated the air and the skies were perpetually engulfed in smoky air.  But at night, the city lit up in an unhealthy glow of torchlights, almost making it seem like a dark grey, gnarled graveyard.  The waters surrounding the port city enhanced that eerie glow with the moonlight casting reflective lights back to the city, mired in the stink of bodies thrown down the battlements and rotted fish.

Still, the night air was much healthier than the day air, he supposed as he sat on the roof of the brothel, in quiet contemplation.  Sleep was rare for him now, not that an assassin needed much sleep.  Many times, he had completed his missions in the darkness of night, but those were rare and far and few in-between.  The Hashashin preferred to make their kills in the open light, so that witnesses may see the might of their deadly power without even seeing them.

But with the Templar threat looming larger than before, a plague that suddenly appeared and only the magnitude of how large it was growing by the day, he knew that there had to be changes in how the Hashashin operated.  The public execution of officials deemed corrupt or paid for in generous amounts by their clients would have to be limited.  The Hashashin’s main goal now was to stop the Templar threat and to find the Pieces of Eden so nothing like what Al Mualim had been planning would come to fruition.

Still, one would expect to get some semblance of sleep at night, but sleep eluded Altaїr on some nights.  He knew the reason why…the damned Apple of Eden that had shown him the haunting images of his past, present, and dare he suspect, even his future.  Or at least the future of things to come.  He knew that these images were designed to seduce him, to take him into the Piece’s power and twist him, but he refused to fall prey to such images – however tempting they were of future technologies and whispers of power.

He did not want the power and had taken the leadership of the Hashashin of Masyaf only thus reluctantly.  Surprisingly and with deference, it had been Malik who had urged him to become their leader.  He had thought that his friend would have wanted the position, but with his support, he had begun to see a new light around him.  He knew that if he were to falter in his leadership of the Hashashin, or to even fall prey to the seductive siren call of the Apple of Eden, then Malik would be one of the few people to call him back to the light.

Robin would be another one, he was sure of that now.  He absently brought his left arm in front of his face, releasing the hidden blade from its holster and stared at its light gleaming metal.  It was his fault that he had led the honest man to the trap that the Templars had set up.  He should have been more careful before he had left for Cyprus, should have warned the Rafiq and Robin not to go to Jubair Al Hakim’s piles of books, parchments, and the like burning in the areas.

He should have realized that while Jubair was the leader of his sect of scholars, the members were probably also Templars.  That cutting the head off of a hydra such as he and his brethren did not kill the body.  There would always been more heads grown and those of lesser rank would rise to the top, like he did within the Hashashin.  He should have known that the Templars would not lie quiet even with Robert de Sable dead.  That they already would have been prepared for someone to succeed as the Grand Master of the Templars, and the Grand Master would have had traps lying in wait for the Hashashin and those who killed their predecessor.

After his return from Cyprus, he had every intention of returning to Damascus to tell Robin that he would be removing himself from the investigation and for him to continue on his own, but after finding out the grim news from the Rafiq, knew that he owed it to Robin to make sure he was safe and out of the Templars’ eyes.  The mere fact that the King had also signed a peace agreement for Robin’s safety was just an afterthought.  He could not leave a fellow good man to the Templars.

“You are thinking too much, Altaїr,” her voice startled him from his thoughts and he turned slightly, releasing the blade back into its holster, as she approached him and sat down next to him, her hand light on his shoulder.

He had not heard her approach and the corner of his lips quirked up in an ironic smile.  She was definitely a fast learner and to accomplish that feat…  Well he would never let her know, but it was still refreshing and it pleased him.

“Maria,” he greeted.

“Not even back on dry land for less than a week and here another nest of Templars await us,” she said coolly, staring at the direction of the Citadel.

Altaїr stayed silent, knowing that she would continue when she felt like it.  It was something he had learned when the two of them had spent time on Cyprus, chasing after Armand Bouchart.  The life and death that had surrounded them as they each felled lieutenant after lieutenant, and with Maria changing her allegiances constantly throughout those harried days before she finally realized how much her fellow Templars actually cared for her, and made her stand with him; he had learned much about her since then and had surprisingly, found himself attracted to her forcefulness and the courage and even ingenuity she had displayed.

“You do not even know if the good Captain is even in the Citadel,” she continued after a few minutes.  “but at least we know he is within the city.”  She turned to look at him, “Do you hate me?”

Altaїr looked at her, his brows knitting in confusion, “Why would you say such words?”

“Come now,” Maria smiled crookedly, “surely the madam told you what I did to Janan all those months ago?”

“Yes,” Kalilah had cornered him soon after Janan’s wounds had been taken care of by the other women and a few men of the house and had told him what Maria had ordered her men to do to Janan soon after she had witnessed Garner de Naplouse’s death.  “Janan knew what the risks were.  Kalilah would have already had information of when Garnier de Naplouse would die and would have given it to her informants.  It is Janan’s fault for lingering to where she was when the man fell.”

“No accountability?  Nothing?  Just like that?” Maria looked at him, surprise lighting her eyes.

Altaїr turned away, staring back out at the grey, dead-like city.  “Would you hold yourself accountable for all your former Master told you to do?”

“Just like you have?” Maria countered quietly and Altaїr tightened his jaw at her words.  He understood why Al Mualim wanted the nine other men dead and had sent him to kill them.  It was his duty and his training to be an assassin.  Nothing more, nothing less.

“No,” he replied, “they were orders and I would have gladly followed them.  But these men were also corrupt in their own way.”

“Then that is my answer also,” Maria said, “to follow my former Master’s orders and nothing more.  But you must understand something, Altaїr.  We are no longer bound by the Masters we once served.”

Altaїr glanced back at her, wondering what she was getting at.  She smiled a bit implishly at him before leaning in and kissing him gently on the cheek.  “I stay by your side not because you are my new master, but because we are equals.”

She leaned back again and he looked at her, suddenly seeing her in a different light.  Acre under moonlight suddenly did not seem lifeless at all.  With her here, he realized, things were different.  He was not too sure how, but he knew that things were different.  “Thank-“

“Do not thank me Altaїr,” Maria’s impish smile suddenly disappeared as she touched the spot she had kissed him with a light caress, “I am not doing this for your ally, or for the Hashashin.  I am doing it for you.”

It was as if the wool had finally lifted itself from Altaїr’s eyes as he pondered her words.  He realized, inwardly, that he was not going to rescue Robin because the treaty with the King did it.  Nor was he doing it because a good man was in Templar hands, but because he wanted to.  Maria was helping him in this mission because she wanted to do it for him.  He was rescuing Robin because he wanted to do it for him, because after everything else, Robin was more than an ally, he was a friend.

However peculiar their friendship was, he was still a friend.

Another thought occurred to Altaїr as he realized where Robin was being held in the city.  Janan’s presence had revealed it all.  Maria had probably known where it was, but the fact that he had said earlier down in the main parlor hall of the brothel that there were still traitors within the Hashashin, made her unable to tell what she had known in case anyone there was a spy.

It was only up here, in the quiet private sanctuary of the night, that she was able to be completely honest to him.  He had told her that he was returning to Damascus to end his mission with Robin and for her to wait for him and she had taken his request and turned it completely upside down.  He realized that she had found out about the orders for fellow Templars to capture him or Robin and had anticipated that he too would find out in Damascus.  Her foresight into learning as much as she could for his sake, for him like she had said, was because she truly understood him.

Altaїr realized that he was very fortunately to have such a woman by his side…and that she knew it too.  He got up, flexing his fingers and tightening his muscles a couple of times up and down his arms and legs.  He knew what he had to do.  “Where do you think it could be located?”

“Not sure,” Maria still sat on the roof, looking up at him, “be careful.”

He nodded once before heading off towards the direction of Hospitalier Fortress.  The only place where if one wanted to keep a prisoner alive awaiting further orders and the place where the first patients of the Knights Hospitalier had tested the uses of the Piece of Eden.

The most logical place where the Templars thought that the Hashashin would never look.  But then again, the Templars in this city did not know that things had changed…

A wolfish smile graced Altaїr’s face as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop towards the Fortress.  Tonight he would find out where Robin was kept.  Tomorrow, they would rescue him.

                                    *                      *                      *

The swirling haze of anger curled and nipped at the edges of his mind, taunting him, biting him.  He barely suppressed the low growl in his throat as he batted away at the taunts.  They were nothing to him!  Designed to irritate and annoy him, he needed nothing from that haze.  What he needed was a way to escape this hellish place.

Robin could feel the cold iron clamps chafing his skin, but pain was just a mere nuisance by now.  “Stop it,” he hissed quietly, trying to force the anger to go away.  But it persisted some more, poking, prodding.  He lashed out at it, a dark smile gracing his face as he saw it hesitate and pull back before cautiously extending its tendrils once more.

“ENOUGH!” he shouted, before reaching out and grabbing it.  He pulled it close to his face, sneering at it, and watched it tremble in fear.  Siphoning all of the fear and anger from it, he reached deep within him and embraced the fury that had long simmered within him.  The haze grew darker around him, but this time he was not falling for it.  No, he would master it, and it would become his weapon.  He would use it to smash his way out of this god-forsaken place and kill any who opposed him.

Giving it a squeeze in his hand, he felt it pulse out a burst of fear, and embraced its power wholeheartedly.  The fear would serve him, he decided as he looked up and saw the black masks of his captors shrink back a step.  Good, they were afraid of him.  His grip tightened on the handle of the blade he was holding.  A wicked curved Saracen blade, but a blade nonetheless.

His left hand held the remnants of the eyeball and socket he had jammed his fingers into after acquiring the thing that had been taunting him.  He was its master now.  Not the damned fool that he held it.  And it would obey him.  The squish of the remnant puss of an eyeball ran through the smallest gaps in his fingers on his left hand, but he would not be deterred.

“You will all die,” he whispered, murder foremost in his mind.  He would no longer be held captive to their whims.  He would be the whirlwind of death amongst them and they would all pay for what they had done to him.

The startled curses of his fathers and forefathers before fell deaf on his ears, but nonetheless he snapped his gaze to the left as a foolhardy man charged at him, curved sword held high.  Robin smiled darkly as he neatly sidestepped the man’s overhead blow and lashed out with his sword on his right, cutting through flesh, bone, and sinew.  Ripping through the rest of the man’s guts, he kicked with his left foot and the man spilled to the ground, choking and gurgling as his innards fell out of the wide cut he gave him.

Laughing darkly, Robin watched as he tried desperately to put his organs back into his open gut, and the spark of life along with copious amounts of blood soon left the man dead on the ground, eyes glazed in the pain of death.

He heard another whispered curse behind him and turned to see the others charging at him.  He shook his head, not out of pity, but out of annoyance.  They would never understand.  He whirled around the first blade and held his left arm up to let a second dagger bite into his exposed arm.  Ignoring the spark of pain, he ripped his blade across one of his attackers before turning slightly and slashed at another’s head.  His blade caught on the man’s skull before using his momentum and continued to turn; dragging the man whose limbs twitched in after death and smashed his body into his last attacker.

The two went down in a heap and Robin surged forward, cutting down two more of the black robed attackers that had taunted him so before reaching behind him and plunged the tip of the curved Saracen sword he had acquired into the neck of another.  He pulled the blade out in a sickening slurp of a sound and stared at it for a moment, eyes narrowed before flicking the guts and blood off of it.

There had to be a way out of here, he knew it.  Whether it would lead him to the surface of Jerusalem, he did not care.  He would fight his way out of here if it meant slaughtering the whole of the city of Saracens.  Perhaps the King would reward him justly for single-handedly capturing the city.  An ironic thought, but nonetheless, one he could not dwell on.  He heard the distant clatter of booted feet behind him, but knew that they were not for him.

Turning his gaze through the wide circular room, he saw the glinting eyes of those that still lived and saw them shrink back, fear alighting their eyes and a wicked smile crossed his face.  Let them be afraid, let them spend their last moments afraid of his fury.  He would slaughter them all.

He felt the hungry pulse of power in his left hand and gripped it tightly before advancing forward.  The first man ran up to him, holding his hands out and Robin stepped to the side before slashing at him, cutting across his chest and spraying blood into the air.  He could never trust anyone; a weapon may have been concealed underneath the hands, a small dagger of sorts.

Screams rendered the air and he allowed himself a quick smile before raising his blade up once more and stabbed it into a woman, making her gurgle, feebly clutching at his blade before falling limp, dead.

He shook her corpse off of the blade and turned, staring at two children huddled near the two fallen bodies, clutching each other.  His captors were raising kids now to be like them?!  Training them to be ruthless and callous in their ways…how pitiful.  Rage filled him at the disgust of seeing such corruption.  Well, they would not be spared – already too indoctrinated in the Templar ways.  “Your death will be swift,” he growled out before lashing out at the children, cutting their heads off as if they were mere sticks propped up against the wall.

He did not bother to see what his carnage had wrought and continued advancing forward, slashing and hacking away at the fleeing people.  They did not deserve to live, none of them!  They were all being used, indoctrinated into the Templar philosophy.  There would be no more for the Templars to use, no more for them to abuse.  The pain from his wounds flared across his body, but he did not care at the moment.  Pain was just an excuse, something that hindered him.  He would prevail and he would not falter under such conditions.

He was about to kill another of the recruits when the power in his hand pulsed out a warning and Robin ducked, barely avoiding a sharp knife that embedded itself into the cracks of the stone wall behind him.  He turned towards the direction where the knife had been thrown and narrowed his eyes slightly.

Two men stood by the doors, one dressed in robes of white, and the other, in the very familiar emblem of the Knights Templar.  Enemies…

                                    *                      *                      *

Altaїr had been preparing to throw another dagger at the mysterious assailant that had been ruthlessly and methodically slaughtering all of the prisoners in the cell when the assailant turned around and the dagger fell from his fingers as shock coursed through him.  He heard Carter curse quietly behind him as they stopped.  Robin stood before them, a feral and ruthless look on his face.  Specks of blood splattered across the remnant tatters of his shirt, but his hands and the curved Saracen blade he was holding was liberally coated in the blood of the innocents he had slaughtered.  His eyes were completely black, as if possessed by a demon of sorts.

As an assassin Altaїr had been brought up never to fear, yet, somehow, seeing his friend in such a state, with such a cruel look on his face that belied the nature that he knew from the man.  He could not help but feel a small pit of despair and fear within himself.  His horror grew as his gaze finally tracked to Robin’s left hand, clenched in a fist, glowing an unholy white-light.  A very familiar white-light.

So the rumors they had been chasing in Damascus had some inch of truth to them; there was part of a Piece of Eden that the Templars had found, and it looked like, even not a whole Piece, it was still able to be activated and used.  This was not Robin, he knew the man, knew that his kind-heartedness would never stoop so low to slaughter innocents.  The Piece that he held must be influencing him, corrupting and twisting him ever more so than Al Mualim had dreamed of.  This is what the Piece of Eden did to someone who wasn’t meant to wield it… Altaїr was sure of it.

“He has a Piece of Eden in his left hand,” he spoke in a low voice to Carter as they cautiously took a few steps forward, spreading out.  Altaїr drew out his short blade, determined not to fight his friend in combat, but only to get close enough to knock the wretched thing out of his hand.

“Is that why he’s gone mad?” Carter asked, making an abrupt sign of the cross on his chest before twirling his sword once.

“Come to meet you maker?  I’ll bring death swiftly to you,” Robin growled out to them and Altaїr shot a quick look to Carter who nodded once before they circled around him.  He was glad that Robin’s manservant was clearing out the front area of the underground dungeons along with Maria when they made their assault on the Fortress just over fifteen minutes ago.  He had a feeling that Much would never have wanted to see his Master in such a state…

The dim torchlight threw even more sinister shadows across Robin’s hate-filled face as he looked back and forth between him and Carter, assessing to see which one was the strongest to attack.  Carter took the decision away from him as he suddenly charged forward with a war cry, swinging his sword at Robin who immediately spun and parried the blow.   Altaїr took advantage of the blind spot and slipped in with his own sword, but Robin suddenly broke the parry with a wide swing before lashing out at him.  He caught the tip of the blade with his own short sword, before swinging a punch to Robin's face.  The punch missed by the barest of inches and Robin lashed out with his own wild punch.

Altaїr quickly reversed his punch and jammed his elbow downwards, intercepting his hand with bone-jarring force.  However, the Piece of Eden did not drop out of Robin's left hand as he had hoped and he gritted his teeth as he suddenly ducked out of the way just as Carter's sword slashed through their stalemate.  He backed away as the Crusader ruthlessly attacked Robin, trying to catch him off guard.

However, Robin armed with the Saracen blade fought back with equal ferocity.  He had originally thought the man couldn't even wield such a blade let alone fight with it, but he had been mistaken.  He stepped back, waiting for another opportunity to try to disarm the Piece from Robin's hand.  He had not explicitly told Carter not to touch the Piece of Eden, but had warned him of the effects and judging by the fact that the man was indeed the King's personal spy, probably had some knowledge of its seductive powers.  The only worry he had was if Carter did touch it, would he be overcome by its power or would he be able to resist it.

They had planned their assault in the dead of night, when the guards were at their most tired and had both Carter and Maria pretend they were escorting him as a prisoner inside.  Much acted as Carter's manservant, having refused to even work with Maria  when the plan was outlined during the daylight hours.  Altaїr understood that not everyone would believe her sincerity towards the Hashashin's cause, but he had been mildly surprised at Carter's willingness to work with Maria.

From her, he had learned that Carter had once been assigned the lands in England where Maria had lived as part of his family's domain and had traveled frequently between the King's court, to his homeland in France, and to his family's English land.  He knew that there had to be more to the story, but out of respect for Maria he did not press the issue, knowing that she would tell him when she felt ready.

Sheathing his short sword once more, he drew out his daggers and threw two of them at Robin, targeting his sword arm and his right leg.  What shocked him next was Robin suddenly whirled so quickly, he was only a blur of sorts, throwing Carter back into the stairs where the man landed heavily and awkwardly, before he saw two glints flying back towards him.  Altaїr's eyes widened as he quickly stepped to the side, avoiding his own daggers.  He reached behind him and barely drew his short sword out once more as Robin charged at him and parried the crushing overhead blow.

He gritted his teeth as tightened his grip on the handle of his short sword, the opposite side of the blade hovering dangerously near his own throat.  Though he had never fought with Robin, he knew from first glance that the man was most definitely not as strong as he was in terms of sheer strength in wielding a blade.  He was more sinewy and slender, built to fire a bow and arrow like some of the others in Masyaf.  It had to be the Piece in his hand amplifying his unnatural strength.

Skittering a step back, keeping his feet firmly on the slick, blood-covered ground, he suddenly spun to his left, making Robin fall forward from his momentum.  Lashing out with his knife, he scraped a cut across his back, not serious enough to be fatal, but just deep enough to wound him.  However, to his surprise, he saw Robin regain his balance and charge at him again, swinging wildly, unaffected by his attack.

Altaїr raised his sword up, blocking another swipe, and lashed out with his left fist, catching Robin in the sternum and kicked him the same place, pushing him backwards.  His trained eyes saw the many opportunities to drive his dagger home into the blow that would kill his friend, but he suppressed that instinct, knowing that this was not a fight to the death.  This was a fight to save him.  But it was hard as Robin charged forward at him again, this time bringing the sword in a side blow that he easily stepped away from.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carter, groggily picking himself up from the floor, nearly falling back down as the toe of his boot caught in the open mouth of a dead prisoner, before shaking the dead woman's head off, snapping the neck.  “Carter!” he called out, side-stepping another downwards slash, deftly avoiding Robin's glowing left hand.  A part of him whispered the warning that should the Piece of Eden touch him while still being held in such a manner, he would fall under its thrall.

“Fight you coward,” Robin growled at him, and Altaїr shook his head.

“I will not fight you,” he said as he reached behind him, to where his ultimate trump card rested underneath his outer robes.  He dared not use it, knowing that even though he had succeeded in overcoming its initial effects, he did not know what would happen if it was used against another Piece of Eden.

But at this rate, with Robin still fighting wildly, not the least bit exhausted, and his and Carter's unwillingness to harm him, there may be no other choice.

“ Altaїr!” the Crusader suddenly called behind him and  Altaїr rolled to the side, barely able to clear Carter's overhead leap as he charged back into the fray.

He backed away some more as he let Carter continue fighting Robin.  They could not keep this up for long; otherwise reinforcements from all over the city would arrive.   Altaїr made the grim decision and pulled out his trump card.

It fit into the palm of his hand neatly, a spherical object, metallic with intricate designs.  Originally kept in the box that it had been found in at Solomon's Temple, before they had left Masyaf in their original mission to search for the Piece of Eden in Damascus, he had taken it from the box without Malik's knowledge.  He had thought it would help somehow, to locate the other Piece of Eden, but mostly kept it because he did not want any of the others to fall to the temptation of looking at it while he was away.

Now, holding it in the palm of his hand, he was sure that it would help break the influence the other Piece had on Robin.  Altaїr did not know how the Piece activated, but all he knew was that he needed to free Robin from the influence.  Suddenly the fabled Apple of Eden glowed in his hand and he felt a surge of energy fill him.  It was unlike anything he felt before, and he suddenly knew what he had to do.  “ _Carter, hold him!_ ” he called out, feeling a reverberating command in his own voice as he approached the two combatants and saw Carter lock Robin's sword into the wall, shooting a quick look at him before turning back to Robin.

He did not miss the shock on Carter's face, but ignored it as he grabbed Robin's left arm, a feeling of disgust and revulsion fill him as the unholy light of the Piece of Eden flowed through him.  But his own Piece pulsed out its own power, pushing away the corrupting influence.  Twisting Robin's hand, he applied the most pressure on the hollow part where bone of the wrist was connected to the hands.  The yelp of pain through the sheer force of the pressure he was putting on Robin's wrist without actually breaking it had to be excruciating.

“You will not deny me my freedom-” Robin growled at him, focusing his rage when Carter abruptly punched Robin in the face, jerking his head back and making him abruptly drop the Piece of Eden.  As soon as the Piece dropped to the ground, the unholy light disappeared.   Altaїr immediately released his hold on Robin's hand as his friend collapsed onto the ground and it was by the saving grace of Carter pinning Robin to the wall, that he managed to catch him before his head hit one of the stones on the ground.

He quickly put his own Piece of Eden away, feeling the surge of power and added knowledge fade away.  A part of him yearned not to put the Piece away, but he realized that it was part of the temptation that made such a thing corruptible.  Hiding his shudder of worry by kneeling next to his unconscious friend, he quickly checked his pulse and found it beating strongly.

“Is he...?” Carter murmured next to him, staring out at the rest of the cell warily, sword still out.

“Alive,” Altaїr replied, deftly picking up the dropped partial Piece of Eden and hiding it away in one of his boots.  Robin suddenly groaned, twitching slightly on the ground before opening his eyes.  He was surprised at the amount of pain in them and wondered with so few injuries upon his body, why did he look like he was in so much pain?

“Altaїr?” Robin squinted at him before turning slightly to look upwards at Carter.  “Carter?”

He looked up to see the Crusader nod once, a genuine smile of relief on his face before tilting his head slightly, “We should leave at once.”

Acknowledging the suggestion with a curt nod, he made to help Robin to his feet, when the man hissed slightly and pulled away, wincing.  “Hurts...all over...some kind of liquid, makes it hurt...” Robin breathed out quietly.

“Robin we need to-”

“I know,” he heard the pain in his friend's voice and shook his head as he saw Robin pick himself up painfully from the floor, using his bloody curved blade as a prop before managing to stand upright.

Altaїr drew out his longsword as they headed towards the cell pit's exit just as Much burst through, looking worst for wear.

“They've sent for reinforcements to the front gate,” Much said grimly, “we're trapped.”

                                    *                      *                      *

Robin was dismayed to see his hands shake as he held his sword aloft.  A part of him wondered where he had gotten such a curved Saracen blade, but the other part of him told him that it was thoughts for another time as he stared at Much, who looked a bit battered and bruised in places, but otherwise unharmed.  He wanted to cry out in relief and joy at seeing his friend and manservant, but the effort was too much.

“Master...” he heard Much's quiet exclamation and looked up, smiling even though it hurt so much before Altaїr stepped forward, taking charge of the situation.

“Where's Maria?” he asked gruffly.

“She said...that she was going to try something...a-and disappeared off somewhere!” Much replied a bit helplessly.

Robin did not know what Altaїr was talking about and vaguely recognized the name Maria, but could not place it.  He saw the look of worried frustration cross the assassin's face before gesturing for them to follow him out.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carter move to help him and sent a sideways glare at his friend.  He appreciated the help, but he did not want to feel like an invalid.

Carter just gave him a rueful smile before brushing past him to follow Altaїr out of the cell.  He wondered what had caused Carter to come to his rescue and briefly wondered if it was a result of their conversation back when they had been escorting the King to Masyaf for negotiations.  They had partially repaired the friendship, but Robin had known that it was forever changed with the revelation that Carter was the King's personal spy.  Perhaps he had come under the King's orders?

Brushing the thought aside, he followed Altaїr and Carter out, neatly avoiding Much's hand on his arm and saw the brief spark of hurt flare in his manservant's eyes.  He wanted to tell Much that his captors had forced a liquid concoction into him that made even the slightest touch hurt all over, but knew that such news would hurt Much and make him feel guilty.  Instead, he turned slightly to him and gave him a half smile.  “Thank you...for rescuing me,” he said and saw the hurt look abruptly vanish before Much nodded, his head bobbing up and down before he smiled.

It was an effort to slap him on the back, stinging pain all the way from his palms through his arm, but nonetheless he resolutely ignored it and pushed him forward slightly.  “To make this a proper rescue, we will have to escape first.”

“Agreed,” Much smiled through the tears falling down his face before hefting his sword.

Together, they hurried after Altaїr and Carter and at the end of the hall they had turned into, Robin saw the faintest hint of moonlight and what looked like an open courtyard.  Already, the sounds of swords clashing mightily against one another echoed in the hall and Robin shunted all of the pain from himself before charging forward with a yell.

He met the first sword swing with one of his one, the clanging of steel upon steel a jarring force that shook all the way to his bones.  A brief flare of surprise filled him as he saw the emblem of his fellow Crusader before, hate replaced the surprise.  It was not a surprise that his fellow Crusaders had been a part of this plan, to capture him and torture him.

Swinging a wide arc, he broke the stalemate and pivoted a half-turn, slashing across the man's open neck, catching him in a messy spray of blood.   The Crusader fell down, but just a quickly two more filled his spot, ready to cut him down.  Robin immediately stabbed one in the gut, ripping through the flimsy chainmail like it was paper before pulling his sword out and backhanded the other soldier.  The Crusader fell to the ground and he finished him off with a swift stab into the man's face.

A quick glance around told him that they were slowly making their way out of the area, a very familiar one at that, and hurried towards the portcullis.  He saw a few Crusaders rushing past him, and narrowed his eyes, ready to cut them down before they disappeared into the night, screaming about demons or something of that nature.  Robin smiled darkly just as a flare of pain erupted on the back of his left shoulder and he cried out, tumbling forward.  He heard the snap of something on his back and the blossom of pain grew before looking up to see archers, positioned at the top of the walls of the courtyard they were in.

“Altaїr!” he thought he heard a feminine voice cry out, as the air was suddenly filled with arrows and saw his friends ducking and weaving amongst the blades, trying to avoid the hail of deadly fire.

Robin tried to pull himself up, but the pain from the wound in his shoulder and throughout his body knocked the wind out of him.  He thought he heard the shout of a young man somewhere near him, but could not quite place it as three glints of knives suddenly flew through the air followed by three bodies tumbling from the sky.  Hands suddenly grabbed at him and he tried to fight them off before Altaїr's familiar voice spoke near his ear, shouting something unintelligible.

He blinked his eyes owlishly as he tried to focus on the images in front of him, but for some odd reason, he could not.  Everything seemed sluggish all of the sudden, and Robin winced as rough hands pulled him to his feet, forcing him to stumble along.  He thought he saw the brief flash of a familiar feminine face before that too disappeared.  It was followed by murky grey walls, stones, everything a dark-colored blur.  He thought he smelled a brief flash of musky perfume, but even that seemed faded as he found himself falling into the dark oblivion...

Robin tried to open his eyes, but they felt so heavy, tired, nothing more than to rest.  He could feel his breath hitching in panic.  He needed to fight, needed to help his friends, needed to escape from his god-forsaken captors.  He needed...

“ _Salaam, Robin, sleep, friend.  You are safe_ ,” the barest whispers of a soothing Arabic, male or female, he could not tell at this point, spoke in his ear.  It was a familiar voice, recognizable, and he finally surrendered himself to Morpheus' cradle.

                                    *                      *                      *

Altaїr finally allowed himself a chance to breathe and relax as he stepped outside of the room Robin had been placed in, letting Kalilah and Much bandage Robin's wounds to prevent any infection of sorts.  He would never admit it out loud, but their escape from the Hospitalier fortress had been a harried and lucky one.

Had it not been for Maria's quick thinking of scaring away most of the guards with the small explosives that he had constructed during the day then they would have had to face an even more overwhelming force than the one they had faced in the courtyard.  When he had given the explosives to Maria, she had looked at him with some suspicion in her eyes and had quietly asked if he had been looking into the Apple of Eden that he carried upon him at all times.

He had gently denied it, but knew that she did not believe him.  Truth be told, he had glimpsed the Piece of Eden and saw a vision of the future where such a thing decided so many battles instead of just steel upon steel, but knew that it was not the right time for such a weapon to be used in warfare.  Maria was the only one who knew of him carrying the Apple with him at all times, but now that he had used it to subdue Robin, he wondered if Carter would call him out on it.  She had also been the only one who understood why he carried it, not as a weapon or a way to manipulate others, but as a safeguard against the temptations of others and to prevent others from feeling that same temptation.

The ring of steel coming out of a scabbard made him pause and an ironic smile flitted across his face before he schooled himself to a more neutral expression.

“You said you would never use the Piece of Eden,” Carter spoke up, his voice tight, barely restraining the anger in them.

Altaїr turned to face the Crusader, allowing a hint of a smile to grace his lips as Carter's blade was pointed at his throat.  “And what will you do about it, Crusader?” though he had been an important asset in the mission, he still did not trust him.  The man after all, was the King's personal spy and he had no doubt that tonight's events were to be relayed to the King – especially regarding the Piece of Eden.

Carter stared at him, expressionless for a few minutes before sheathing his sword once more and shook his head.  “There has been enough death this day.  The King will be pleased with the news that the Templars have been defeated in Acre.”

“But the head of the fabled hydra will grow again,” Altaїr cautioned, knowing that while it had been a victory, albeit a very bloody one, the Templars would rise once more.

 Carter snorted softly as he nodded once before straightening and sketched a short bow to him.  “It was an honor to fight by your side, assassin.  I will take my leave and await Captain Locksley's return to the King's camp.”

“Safety and peace, Crusader,” Altaїr replied quietly and watched Carter head down the stairs to the front of the brothel and leave without another word.  He knew that the alliance between the two of them was over, and while he could not say that it was anything but pleasant, he had to admit, the thing that bound all of them together was their friendship with Robin.  Perhaps one day their paths would cross once more.

The quiet thunk of a door closing behind him made him turn slightly to see Maria stepping out from the room she had been given in the brothel for the night.  “He was always like that, stiff, proud, unwilling to compromise his honor or his loyalty,” she gestured with her chin towards the front door where Carter had left.  “I am not surprised to see that he had become friends with someone like Locksley.”

“Oh?” he asked.

“He was brought up to devote himself to King and country, that anything and everyone was a risk to the King.  That any little thing done would be a ripple in the great ocean of greater things,” Maria glanced at him, “a little like you.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled, touching him gently on the cheek before pulling his hood off and gestured for him to follow her.  “Locksley is safe, the Templars have been driven into hiding, you should rest,” she said quietly.

Altaїr understood her implicit words, but pulled the hood back up to his face.  He saw a flash of disappointment in her eyes, but instead, leaned down and kissed her full on the lips.  “Not here though,” he whispered in her ear and saw the impish smile return on her face before she glanced at him, her eyes alight with desire.

“Then catch me, if you can,” she laughed softly before leaping from the balcony of the second floor down to the front parlor and headed out of the door.

Altaїr allowed himself a rueful smile before chasing after her.

                                    *                      *                      *

**Author’s Notes:**

            Maria Thorpe is a character introduced in _Assassin’s Creed_.  In the sequel game, _Assassin’s Creed: Bloodlines_ and _Assassin’s Creed II_ , we learn that she defects from the Templars and becomes Altaїr’s lover and eventually his wife.  According to her _AC_ biography from the guide book, “Maria always dreamed of being a knight.  A tomboy as a child, she was often ridiculed by other children and punished by her parents for refusing to ‘be a lady.’  She dreamed of leaving England for Jerusalem – and winning honor and glory alongside the Crusaders.  Alas, her parents forced her to marry and these dreams were crushed.  After a little more than a year, her wanderlust had grown to be unmanageable, and she fled England (disgracing herself) to sail for the Holy Land.  She disguised herself as a man and rose to prominence amongst the Crusaders, eventually attracting the attentions of Robert de Sable.   He quickly discovered her true gender…but didn’t care.  Though she does not share his beliefs, he gives her the opportunity to be who she is.  He accepts her.  She’ll do anything for him, including dying for him and his cause if she must.  Maria is serious and severe in her thoughts, words, and actions.”

            I took this into account and made her react the way she does with Janan and Kalilah’s “professions.”  I believe she is someone who does not tolerate how women are treated and especially how prostitutes sell their own bodies for men.  Like a few other _AC_ gamers, I was quite surprised, but very tickled with amusement that she and Altaїr eventually fell in love and had kids.  ^_^  For those of you who have played _AC2_ , you may recognize the last few sentences of the part, setting up the romantic interlude between Altaїr and Maria that takes place in between Sequence 7 and 8 of the game.

            About the Piece of Eden…I’m not quite too sure how it works and how it affects the user itself, but I tried to convey what was seen in both games so far and judging by how _Assassin’s Creed II_ says that Altaїr always kept the Apple near him and even looked at it, glimpsing of technologies far into the future, made the decision to have him keep it with him.  I believe that the Piece of Eden, any Piece or part of a Piece is something that can be a double-edged sword, both good and bad and hoped that I conveyed that properly in this chapter.

            The historical note should be Conrad of Montferrat and his rule of Acre.  Conrad was the proper ruler of Acre until 1192 when he was mysteriously assassinated by two Hashashin, both whom were captured.  Even his own father disliked him, so since his father was a Knights Templar in this story and in the _AC_ game, I made it so that the other Knights Templar thought of him as nothing more than dirt and controlled the city.  But historically, it is not proven that Conrad was a Knights Templar or part of any of the Knights factions.


	8. Part 8:

Robin Hood: Solace of Silence

By: Shadow Chaser

 

**Disclaimer:**

            None of the characters of this story belong to me.  _Robin Hood_ belongs to Dominic Minghella, Foz Allan, Tiger Aspect Productions, and BBC One.  _Assassin’s Creed_ belongs to Jade Raymond, Patrice Desilets, Ubisoft Montreal, and Ubisoft.  I am only borrowing them for my own amusement and that of my muses and fans.  I will return them a bit battered, but otherwise unharmed (mostly).  **Words in foreign languages (Arabic, French, and German) will be _italicized_ throughout this story.**

****

**Story:**

_Part 8 – Home_

 

The bright sunlight and muffled noise of the markets slowly grew louder and louder in Robin's ears.  It was only when a persistent chirp of a bird blasted in his ear that he awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open and drawing a quick breath.  He was greeted with a rough dull-red clay ceiling that looked rough and patchy.  The soft bed beneath his body also felt completely out of place and a wave of panic shot through him as he did not recognize his surroundings.

He shot up, a choked gasp emerging from his mouth as a dull pain ripped across his body, pulling at his shoulders before he glanced down and saw that most of his left shoulder was covered in a swath of bandages.  He stared at the bandages, wondering how did he get so injured when a tentative voice spoke up near him.

“Master?” Much’s whisper was barely audible and he looked to his right to see him staring back at him, a hopeful expression on his face.  There looked to be tears glistening in his eye…tears for what he did not know, but somehow, he had a feeling that they were for him.

“Much?” Robin swallowed, feeling his throat dry before looking around him and spotted a small cup of what looked like water in it.  Reaching over, mindful of his bandages, he grasped it and lifted it to his lips.

That was when he found his own hand trembling to his dismay, but resolutely tightened his grip on the mug and drained all of the water down his throat.  He set the cup back down and looked up just in time to see tears fall down his manservant’s face.  What had happened?

“Why…?”

Much gave a loud sniff before dragging his arm across his eyes, hastily wiping the tears away, “Just…happy to see that you’re all right, Master.  I mean, you did give us a scare back then, you know, when you were screaming and yelling about something we couldn’t understand.  I thought it was Arabic, but even Altaїr and Carter; they were worried, though you couldn’t tell from their expressions.  It’s like both were carved from stone work or could not even budge for that matter.  I’m only glad that we got you out of there-“

“Wait, wait,” Robin held up a hand, biting back a grimace as his shoulder and to his dismay, the wounds on his abdomen area, protested against his movement, “slow down, what are you talking about?”

Much immediately closed his mouth, his eyes widening before scrambling up from his chair and waved his arm at him.  “Hold on, I’ll be back…”

Robin opened his mouth to ask where Much was going when just as fast, his manservant opened the door to his room and stepped out, leaving Robin gaping in silence.  He heard pounding footsteps fade away as Much ran somewhere and shook his head minutely before breathing out a sigh of exasperation.

Since Much ran off somewhere, he decided to examine the swath of injuries he had gotten, that he could not remember.  The last thing he remembered was being in Damascus, searching amongst the piles of burning books.  As he tentatively pressed each place where the bandages overlapped the most, he had a feeling that he did not want to remember what had happened to him.  Judging by the faint odor of sea water and decaying fish wafting through the open window of his room, this was most definitely not Damascus.

In fact, the odor smelled vaguely familiar.  He pulled the sheets off of his legs, finding himself in soft and comfortable linen pants from waist down, though one of his legs was wrapped in a swath of gauze.  Swinging himself gently out of the bed, taking care not to aggravate or pull any of the injuries that he apparently had, he stood up, feeling a wave of dizziness overcome him before he put a hand to the rough wall and steadied himself.  Taking a few steps forward to the window, he peered out and confirmed what he already knew…

The sea water and fishy decayed smell was unique to Acre and his window view gave him a very good look at Richard’s Citadel.  He noted the banner of Conrad of Montferrat flying on its spires, but otherwise, it seemed that the bustling port city was well on its way to being fully repaired.

The door opened again and Robin turned his head slightly to see Altaїr walk in, Much hovering just over the threshold before the white-robed assassin closed the door once more, leaving Much outside.

“Your manservant tells me you do not remember what happened?” Altaїr’s voice was skeptical as the assassin rolled something in his fingers, standing on the far side of the room.

“No,” he shook his head once, sliding down into the small hardback chair next to the window and in between the table and his bed.  “I remembered being pinned down by scholars, dressed in robes of black and red, but everything after that…”

He thought he saw shadows flit across his face, an afterimage of a vision, followed by the blink of a man’s face, bloodied, screaming at him…

Glancing up at the assassin, he saw that Altaїr’s eyes looked troubled before he finally seemed to come to a decision and approached him, placing the small object he had been rolling around his hand on the end table in front of him.  Robin immediately found his eyes drawn to the object, no larger than a pebble.  It was intricately carved, with symbols and patterns he did not recognize.  A part of his mind whispered at him to touch it, but another part stared at it in horror, revolted.

“What…” he stared up at the assassin who had stepped back a step, “is it?”

“Part of a Piece of Eden that has been determined to be a staff,” Altaїr said in a neutral tone.

“This is what was in Damascus, right?” Robin could feel the uneasiness inside of him grow stronger as he stared back and forth between the Piece and the assassin.

He could see flashes of more screaming faces, the squish of an eyeball in his hand.  The horror on a child’s face just before she died, her throat slashed wide open.

Robin shook his head slightly, clearing the fuzzy remnants of what had seen in his mind’s eye.  Who was that killing all of those innocents?  Why had he been seeing such things?  He glanced down at the Piece, a grimace on his face.  Was this Piece of Eden making him see things?  Even such a small thing, part of a staff Altaїr had said it was, was powerful enough to make people see things…

Altaїr was silent and Robin looked at him, brow wrinkling in concern, “Altaїr, this was in Damascus, right?  We found it?”  He rubbed his forehead, trying to alleviate a headache that was forming before finally roughly pushing the Piece away from him, unable to stand looking at any longer.  As his hand came in contact with the Piece, this time, he couldn’t stop the gasp of shock that coursed through him as he saw-

_Robin smiled darkly as he neatly sidestepped the man’s overhead blow and lashed out with his sword on his right, cutting through flesh, bone, and sinew.  Ripping through the rest of the man’s guts, he kicked with his left foot and the man spilled to the ground, choking and gurgling as his innards fell out of the wide cut he gave him._

_Laughing, Robin watched as he tried desperately to put his organs back into his open gut, and the spark of life along with copious amounts of blood soon left the man dead on the ground, eyes glazed in the pain of death._

-and jerked in his seat, pulling a few of his bandages and wounds with his sudden movement as he stared at the partial Piece of Eden, his jaw falling open in abject horror.  He remembered everything, the darkness that overtook him, the need to kill and slaughter anyone who stood in his way; the frantic clawing towards freedom; his willingness to kill everyone and anyone – to even kill his friends Altaїr and Carter, both whom had come to rescue him in the deep bowels of the dungeons.  The power, the delicious, spellbinding, enthralling power that he had in his hands, whispering to him that he could have it all, to make sure that no one ever hurt him again…

A choked cry escaped his lips as he glanced up at the assassin, who stood silently, staring at him with emotionless eyes.  “I did it…didn’t I?  I killed them all?” he whispered before glancing down at the Piece of Eden.  A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he shook his head, “I used this…this… _thing_ …”

He looked up again at Altaїr who by now, was like a silent sentinel, ever watchful, and staring at him with the same expressionless eyes.  “You are going to kill me, are you not?” he looked away, staring out at the bustling city, “I broke the tenets of your creed, broke your trust, used the Piece of Eden and abused it to kill just because I was overcome with bloodlust.”

“You did not pick it up just now,” Altaїr finally spoke up, his voice contemplative, quiet.

Robin glared at the Piece of Eden and shook his head, “Because I am afraid of it!  Because I do not know what will happen if I pick it up…”  He looked around wildly, feeling decidedly helpless, “I know I got these injuries because I was not strong enough to resist; that I was such a fool to think that I would be able to resist.  That-“

He stopped mid-rant as Altaїr suddenly picked up the small pebble Piece from the table and dropped it into his hands.  His fingers automatically curled around them and Robin blinked in surprise, expecting to feel the seductive whispers and the urge to sate his unfathomable bloodlust that even he did not know he had.  However, what he felt was the rough edges of the pebble, the strange glyphs and scratch marks upon its edges, nothing to indicate its seductive power, or whispering for him to use it.

“Your fear and understanding of such power renders even the tiniest sliver of the Piece of Eden inert.  Your unwillingness to reveal such demons inside you also prevents the Piece from possessing you and controlling your will,” Altaїr said in a gentle voice.

Robin stared at the intricate carvings and designs before suddenly dropping it back in the assassin’s hands.  “It is too great of a temptation for me,” he looked up at the assassin and saw him put it away in the folds of his robes, nodding once in understanding.

The quiet stillness that followed made him suddenly realize what was really going on and looked at Altaїr.  “The agreement made between the King and the Hashashin is over, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the leader of the assassins replied.

Robin realized that after his rescue by Altaїr, Carter, Much, and someone else he could not quite identify, he could have been allowed to recover back at the King’s camp, treated by his own physicians, but instead, he had been kept here, in an undisclosed location under Altaїr’s watchful eye.  One would have thought it was because Altaїr did not trust him and wanted to make sure that he would not be tempted again by the Pieces of Eden – but Robin knew that was not the case.

If the assassin mistrusted his intentions, there was no way he would have placed the partial Piece of Eden, the same Piece he had used to massacre the prisoners and his captors, in front of him.  No, he realized, Altaїr had kept him here to make sure that he had received the best of care possible under the circumstances.  To make sure that he recovered before he was to return to the King’s camp, the agreement between the King and the Hashashin complete.  It was a courtesy not usually given to others, he realized…and it most definitely proved the burgeoning friendship between he and the master assassin.

He looked up at his friend, “Thank you.”

There was the barest of nods from Altaїr before the corner of his mouth curled up in a smile, one of the rare times that Robin had ever seen emotion register behind the cowl covered head.  “ _Salaam_ , Robin of Locksley.  I doubt we would ever meet again,” the assassin said before turning around and heading out of his room.

The door closed quietly, leaving Robin in the silence of his own thoughts, to reflect upon what had happened.  He didn’t know how long he sat there, thinking of the last few months of his life and the seemingly whirlwind adventure he had gone on until a brief knock on the door made him look up to see Much peeking his head in.

“Master?”

This time, Robin allowed a wide smile to blossom on his face, happy to see that Much had come through his rescue and through events safely.  He was glad that his manservant was able to escape after he had been captured.  That had been one of his chief worries, not because he hoped that Much would be able to get help, but because he knew that if Much was captured, then the torture done to him would break his soul and scar him forever.  Robin had no cares about his own soul, having taken so many lives and especially with what happened to him in the Templars’ hands…

“Ready to return to the Private Guard?” he asked and saw the child-like grin of happiness light up his ever constant companion’s face.

“Yes Master!”

                                    *                      *                      *

**_ Timeframe - November, 1191 _ **

 

It was at least two more days of rest and recovery for Robin before he was able to make the journey from the port city back to the King’s camp.  During that time, he had learned that he was staying in one of the rooms of the brothel that Kalilah ran.  It was there that he also learned of her involvement with the Hashashin and that she was the one who had provided Altaїr and the Rafiq of the Acre bureau with information about his character and actions in the city.

He had also learned, to his great sadness and disappointment that it had been Arno, the young stable boy who had dreams of marrying Janan, was the spy within the Hashashin, even though he was only an informant.  It seemed that the Templars had discovered his love for Janan and used it against him, blackmailing him to give them any and all information he had on Altaїr and himself in order for them to spring their trap.  Altaїr had neatly evaded the trap by going after the Templar leader Armand Bouchart in Cyprus, but he had been caught by their trap.

He had learned that the Templars had threatened Janan with harm if Arno did not do as they asked and in a way, Robin did not blame the young man for his betrayal.  He understood the fleeting love the two had for one another and knew that if put in the same position with Marian being threatened, he might have succumbed to the blackmail in order to assure that she was safe.

But it was all for naught as he had learned that Arno had been overcome with guilt for what he had done and had secretly gone after Altaїr, Carter, and Much to try to help rescue him.  He had paid the ultimate price for his betrayal and for his love and perished while they were fighting their way out of the courtyard of the Hospitalier Fortress.

Kalilah had said that they had only discovered his body just a few hours prior and Janan had locked herself in her room, grieving and mourning the young man she had never realized had such strong and deep feelings for her.

And so, he and Much returned to the King’s camp, welcomed with open arms by Tomas and the others of the Private Guard.  If any of them suspected he had been captured and tortured on his mission, none of them made any mention of it.  He had immediately reported to the King and during his audience, the King had made no mention of his capture even though Robin was pretty sure that Carter told him most of the details, seeing that he was the King’s spy, but he had felt as if the King was giving him a critical once-over before dismissing him to return to his duties as head of the Private Guard.

His report to the King had been succinct, describing the city of Damascus, the way the Hashashin operated in a bureau and the fact that they had found a partial Piece of Eden that still held the power of a whole Piece.  During that part, Robin had declined to tell the King of his capture, but only mentioned that Templar forces still roamed Acre and seemingly had Conrad of Montferrat under their thumb.

Now, Robin found himself sitting by one of the fires near the King’s tent, whicking away a few thin sticks to create more arrows.  It had been a couple of weeks since his return and in that time he had not seen a hide or hair of Carter and wondered where the Captain of the Fifth Column had gone.  He knew the rest of the Column was in camp, but there was no sign of their Captain.

Booted feet, jingling with the clang of chainmail hitting the metal approached him, but Robin was not concerned, recognizing the distinctive footsteps as Carter’s and continued to whittle away the shaft of the arrow with his dagger.

“Planning to become a bird, Much?” Carter’s boisterous and joking tone spoke up behind him and out of the corner of Robin’s eyes, he saw his manservant bristle a bit at the slight before turning slightly in his seat, resolutely ignoring him as he continued to put feathers on the finished arrow shafts.

“Good to see you too,” Robin spoke up as Carter sat down next to him, heaving a loud sigh of exhaustion or exasperation he could not quite tell.

“You’re looking better,” Carter commented none too loudly as he picked up one of the sticks on the pile that Robin was working on and examined it, twirling it in between his fingers.

Robin snorted softly at his friend’s concern.  Ever since the revelation of Carter’s real status with the King and the fact that he was a spy, not only for the Knights Templar, but even within camp, he knew that their friendship had been rocky.  He knew the reason behind it – trust issues.  He did not know whatever he said would be reported to the King, though Robin had no fear since he would lay down his life for his King at the drop of a hat, but it was still disconcerting to think that even a mere joke or bit of humor would be reported to the King in such minute detail.

But, at this moment, Robin was willing to give Carter the benefit of the doubt.  “Thank you.”

The gentle slap on his back, rattling his own chainmail, told him that Carter understood what he was trying to put behind his words.  They sat in companionable silence, Carter drawing out his own dagger to help him whittle the sticks into a smooth shaft for his arrows.

“The King,” the blond-haired knight suddenly spoke up, “he was worried, you know…  I did not tell him of all the details, but he has vowed to see Conrad and the other known Templars in Acre punished.”

Robin glanced at him, surprised that the King would do such a thing for him before Carter shrugged again, “I do not think it is for your sake though, mostly because he despises traitors in his own camp.  Plus, many of them are Phillip’s men, left here to fight along with Leopold’s own men.”

“Ah,” Robin understood the meaning behind his friend’s words.  He was deeply moved that the King would do such a thing for him, yet could not do it officially.  There had to be an official story behind his motives and Robin understood that.  It was politics, simple and effective.

“The King plans an offensive into Jerusalem soon,” Carter continued, “though I suspect you already know.”

Robin nodded absently, finished with one stick before place it on Much’s pile and starting on another one, “He has said as much.  I presume it was you who told him that Salah al-Din has set up winter camp and disbanded half of his army?”

“Was scouting for the past two weeks, yes,” his friend nodded.  Now that all secrets were out in the open, Robin found it a lot easier to talk and relate to his friend.  Before, he had been angry, irrationally so, looking back, but that trust had been repaired, especially since he remembered that it was Carter who had also come with Altaїr to rescue him from the prison in the Hospitalier Fortress.

“Perhaps by the end of this year we would be able to finally capture the city and be able to return to our homelands with our heads held high,” Robin wondered wistfully.  His brush with mortality and death had made him think all the more of Marian and how much he wanted to return home to her.

“Perhaps,” Carter agreed, tossing his finished stick into Much’s pile and picking up another one.

“Do you have anyone at home waiting for you?” Robin was curious as he had never heard his friend say anything about his home life except for where he was from and that sort of information.

“No,” the blond-haired man shrugged, “I swore fealty to the King and his court since my father and mother died.  And you know about my brother…”

“He was a good man, your brother,” Robin remembered Thomas, Carter’s older brother leading the Fifth before he had died on his rash assault of the village.

“A fool, with tendencies to disobey orders,” Carter replied, “but a good man as you had said.”

“Was he also…?” Robin wondered if Thomas was under the King’s orders to assault the village.

“No,” a crooked smile worked its way up Carter’s face, “Thomas loved the glory knights got and was aiming for a higher position in the King’s court.  I liked the background.”

“But you command the Fifth,” of all of the columns in the King’s command, the Fifth was a highly prized and valuable cavalry division, probably the most visible of all of the King’s commands except for what used to be Robert de Sable’s men.

“Ironic is it not?” Carter grinned, “Though it was the King who suggested that it would be a good cover for me.  I have to admit, it does cut through a lot of pleasantries one usually has to deal with if I was not a Captain or commander of the Fifth.”

“So what will you do after all of this is over?” he waved in the general direction of where Acre and the lands to the west of them were.

“Don’t know,” the blond-haired Crusader paused for a second, looking thoughtful before grinning at Much, “can’t tease Much anymore I suppose since you’ll probably be returning to Locksley.”

“You can visit,” Robin also glanced at Much who stared at the two of them, mock horror in his eyes before shaking his head and muttering something unintelligible under his breath.

“True, my family has lands in England,” Carter continued, “how about you?”

“Home,” Robin smiled wistfully, “to Marian…”

“Marian…so your mystery woman finally has a name…” Robin shot a look at Carter who tapped the edge of the stick at him, “for the four years we’ve known each other, you have never told me her name.  Now you do…you really think we will capture Jerusalem by this year’s end?”

“Yes,” Robin’s conviction startled even himself, “I promised her that I would return and marry her when I do, complete with honors and glory from our campaign.”

“Well then,” Carter slapped him again on the back, “my friend.  I will see that you get your glory in our assault on Jerusalem.  Then perhaps you will introduce me to this Marian you so long for…”

Robin had to laugh at his half serious half mocking tone and returned Carter’s slap with one of his own.  “I will, my friend, I will.”  The three of them continued working in amicable silence, bolstered by the hope that by year’s end, they would be able to return home.

*                      *                      *

**_ Timeframe: Mid-November, 1191 _ **

 

**KING’S CAMP, NEAR** **ACRE**

 

The initial clash of swords and cries of men dying was just a muffle to Robin's ears as he shifted slightly on his straw-covered bed.  Robin's chainmail rustled slightly as he moved a bit, having not bothered changing out of it after their victory yesterday against a marauding band sent by Salah al-Din.

Another clang made him twitch and he blearily opened his eyes, his sleep-addled mind coming to terms with the sound before he started at the sounds of screaming men, dying near his tent and realized what was happening.

“Much!” Robin shot up from the bed, grabbing his bow and a handful of arrows and his longsword, “Saracens in camp!  The King's under attack!  Much!”

Scrambling out of bed, he hurried outside of his tent, noting the scramble of men running everywhere and saw several masked Saracens running towards the King's tent.  Sticking his arrows into the sandy ground, he strung one and sighted down, firing the arrow.

The first assassin fell to the ground, dead.  He ran towards the King’s tent, pausing only to notch another arrow.  He sighted again and shot another one in the back, throwing the black robed assassin to the ground before quickly downing another assassin.  Was this an attack by the Templars?  The same ones that had captured and tortured him?

He notched his fourth arrow when suddenly, he felt something sharp plunge into his left side, underneath his armpit slicing through his ribs and screamed.  The dagger was withdrawn just as swiftly and Robin collapsed to the sandy ground, his right hand groping at the wound.  He could feel the blood already pouring out the wound and knew it was very deep, probably fatal.  Grimacing and very dizzied from the massive amount of blood lost, he tried to find his purchase, knowing that he could not let the assassin get away with what he did...

He tried to lift his bow, but his left hand felt so heavy, and shook with the effort he tried to make his muscles move to his command.  Launching the arrow, he watched as it missed his target, sailing across the assassin's face, startling him, but only for a moment before he disappeared into the King's tent.

“Master!” Much's yell was a blessing as Robin drew out his longsword and dug the tip into the ground, blinking against the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him.  “You're injured...”

“Go, get help, the King’s tent,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.  He was sure the dagger punctured a lung, “Go!”  He forcibly pushed Much away, putting as much urgency as he could in his voice as he pushed himself up and ran towards the King's tent.

He saw the bodies of both Stephen and Dennis, the two who had been assigned to guard the King's tent in the early morning hours before he threw the flaps open and ran in.  “Your Majesty!” he yelled as he surged forward, blocking the downward stab the assassin had been attempting on the King's sleeping form.

He shoved the assassin roughly away from his King and attacked him with wide cuts, driving him deeper into the tent.  With each swing of his sword, he could feel himself weakening and knew that he had to finish the assassin quick, but somehow, his arms barely worked.  Suddenly he saw an opportunity as the assassin got tangled up in the folds of the tent; grabbing the free arm, he pulled downwards, noting a wolf's head tattoo, highly stylized, and raked his sword across it, hoping to drive a deep enough cut to wound the assassin's sword arm.

However, he could feel his own arm weakening and barely made a cut across the tattoo, but it nonetheless elicited a startled cry from the assassin.  Robin felt his sword arm shake and dropped his sword to the ground, his knees following soon after.  He could feel the assassin get away, ripping his arm out of his weakening grip.  “No!” he shouted, trying support himself against one of the tent's poles, trying to go after the assassin, but his gaze became fuzzy, blurred as he could feel his heart beating faster, trying to compensate from the loss of blood.  He felt his blood pouring out of the deep wound, and clutched at it, trying to stem it...the assassin...he could not live.  His King had been threatened...he needed to make sure his liege and lord was safe...

With great effort, Robin turned his head, his grip on the pole slipping as he fell to the ground, barely able to keep his eyes opened.  He thought he saw a radiant light above him, and a face, red hair and full beard, talking to him, but the voices were oddly muffled, unpronounced.  His King...standing above him...Robin tried to see if there were any injuries upon the King, but for some odd reason, he could not move...  He heard other voices, ones shouting perhaps; hands frantically grabbing at him.

“M-My Lord...” he barely whispered before he finally succumbed to the dizziness and blood loss and passed out.

                                    *                      *                      *

Carter ran towards the King's tent, having been alerted by Much's shout throughout camp that the King was under attack.  Ahead, he could see Tomas pointing to a few of the Private Guard to go after what looked like a distant figure running across the sandy dunes, towards a group of horses stabled at a nearby oasis.

“Tomas!” he called to the second-in-command of the Private Guard, making him turn around, nodding a curt greeting before the two of them opened the flap to the King's tent.  What he saw made his heart nearly stop and horror fill him.  Not again, it couldn't be, his thoughts raced in denial as stared at Robin's prone body, being hastily attended to by the King's personal physician.  There was blood everywhere, but not a scratch on the King himself, which meant, the blood was probably from Robin.

“No,” he heard the whisper of horror escape from Tomas' lips, alerting the King who had been staring down with an intense focus on the physician's ministrations.

“ _Carter, Tomas, help Jacques_ ,” the King ordered his voice tight with an unidentifiable emotion and Carter immediately shucked off his heavy gloves, putting them to the side and unbuckled his sword from his belt before he and Tomas helped Jacques gently lift Robin's body up to one of the King's tables.  However, the physician held up his hand to stop them from rolling Robin onto his back.

“ _I believe the entry wound is on his side_ ,” the physician said in French, “ _hold him_.”

The two of them did as they were told and Carter watched as the physician quickly peeled off the layers of chain mail armor and tunic from Robin's upper body, exposing the pale skin of his chest, littered with scars, some old and rope-like, others more angry red and fresh looking.  Carter realized that the fresher looking scars across his friend’s chest were from his most recent capture and torture by the Templars in Acre.  He steeled himself to keep his face neutral and passive as Jacques tried to find the source of so much blood.  It was only when the physician lifted the left arm that even Carter had a hard time keeping the curse off of his lips.

The wound was oozing dark red blood, and judging by the mutterings of the physician, Carter knew that the situation was very grave.

“ _Can you save him?_ ” the King asked quietly.

“ _Possibly, it is not assured at the moment.  I will need to cauterize the wound and we shall see if he survives that process.  I need clean bandages, water, and light, a lot of light to work_ ,” the physician replied quickly and looked at Tomas who nodded and made to leave the tent to get the supplies he needed.

“Tomas,” Carter called over to Robin's second-in-command, “make sure Much-”

“Got it,” the older man said gravely, understanding what he meant before heading out of the tent.  Much could not see this, otherwise, Carter knew that he would become hysterical and distraught – something they did not need at the moment.

“ _Milord, I will need a clean dagger, hot fire..._ ” the physician looked a bit nervous at asking his King for anything, but Carter saw him nod once before heading to the other side of his tent and rummaged through a chest of sorts before procuring a wide, but short dagger blade.

“ _Will this do_?”

“ _Yes, milord_ ,” the physician took the blade before the King headed out of his tent, and Carter heard him barking a few orders to a few people.  He however, stood by the physician, keeping Robin's body prone at the angle in which the man was working from.

He could see the shallow rise and fall of Robin's chest, the only sign that indicated that his friend was still barely alive.  He did not know how deep the wound went, but knew that the angle in which the wound was cut was near the heart.  He knew from experience that any sort of wound near that place was almost always fatal.  It gave him some hope that if Robin was still breathing, perhaps whatever knife or dagger that had been plunged into him had not pierced his heart.

However, the sheer amount of blood still pouring out of the wound and from the amount on the ground, his friend had lost a lot of it to the point where he did not know if Robin would even survive the next few hours, much less the night.

Just then Tomas stumbled back in, holding swaths of bandages, a bucket of clean water, and a few other clay jars of things he did not recognize.  Carter reached out with his right hand and pushed everything that was on the King's end table to the side, giving Tomas a space to put everything down.  Immediately the physician took a few bandages, soaking them in water before moping up as much of the blood as possible.

“Here,” Carter indicated to Tomas to help the physician while he picked up the dagger, intent on finding a fire and heating the blade up for the physician to use.  He and Tomas were in the middle of switching positions when the tent flap opened and Much burst in, out of breath.  A curse fell almost silently from his lips as Much's gaze tracked to where his master was lying prone on the table.

“Master-”

“Much, you need to leave,” Carter stepped forward, blocking Much's attempt to move to his master's side and forcibly shoved him backwards.

“No!  I won't-”

“Come on!” he grabbed the shorter man by the scruff of his chain mail and dragged him outside of the tent, taking the dagger along with him.

“No, no, no, no!  I need to get back inside!  Robin's...” the protests and tears fell from Much's eyes and Carter looked away as he boldly hauled Much to the side, seeing a fire that was burning brightly next to the King's tent, probably on the King's own orders.  He dragged Much next to the fire and finally let him go and he collapsed to the ground, barely keeping in his sobbing gasps.

Carter immediately stuck the blade deep into the embers of the fire before towering over Much, the sudden well of emotion threatening to overwhelm him now that he was out of the tent.  He realized how tight of a grip he had been keeping on his own emotions while he had been inside the tent, to keep himself from even thinking any thoughts of despair or the fact that his friend was in all likelihood going to die from his mortal wound.

There had always been a sense that certain people, like Robin, were destined for greater things that they were not meant to die in this hell hole of a place; a sense of invincibility that shrouded them and made them seemingly invaluable to the cause.  That the two of them along with others of the Private Guard and other Columns were destined to ride with the King to glory and to ultimate victory.  That somehow, each person lost in the battles they fought was not themselves, but others to whom God had called to Heaven.

But that illusion had been shattered.  He knew that he should have seen it coming, that out of all of them, Robin's position as Captain of the Guard was the most precarious, the one fraught with the most danger.  That no matter how much the King loved him like his own son and tried to protect him, it was still his duty and upon his honor that he would ultimately give his life for his liege and lord.  That Robin had fulfilled the ultimate duty he had been commanded to do so, to die protecting his King.

“H-He...told me, to get help.  He was injured, but he told me to get the others...” Much whispered brokenly next to him and Carter looked down at him, seeing the tracks of tears wash away the stains that were on his face.

Anger suddenly filled him as he gripped Much's shoulder, bring the manservant's gaze on him and he shook it roughly.  “He will not die,” he growled out, “have a little faith!”

“But-”

“Much!” Carter knew he was angry at himself, for doubting such things, for even thinking such despairing thoughts.  Robin would survive; he could not die in this place.  He would go home, see to his lands, see to the woman he had spoken rarely of, but had held a deep love for, right next to the love and devotion he had to the King.

Robin's manservant looked at him and Carter was shocked at the depth and pain in his eyes.  “I promised him, you know, promised over his parents' grave before we left Locksley that I would get their son home, that he would be safe.  That he would come back alive.  Now...”

He released the tight grip he had on Much's shoulder and looked away, his eyes searching out the various forms of the camp still reeling from the attack, but nonetheless rallying to where the King was walking amongst his men, guarded by three of the Private Guard.  He noticed that the guards looked visibly tense, and knew that while they were worried of another attack on the King, they were also worried about their Captain and leader.

Robin did not know it, but he inspired these men, and even other men, not including the King himself.  That was how powerful his influence was, however subtle.  He knew by mid-morning, the whole camp would know of the assassination attempt and those that were involved in the defense of the King.

Carter did not know what else to say to Much and angrily pulled out the blade, seeing the metal glow a fiery orange-red.  Shaking his head, he left Much by the fire, lost in his thoughts, and hurried back into the King's tent.  When he entered, he saw that Jacques had already cleaned most of the blood surrounding the ugly looking wound and a pile of blood-red bandages was on the ground.  Both him and Tomas looked up as he entered and he handed the hilt of the blade to the physician who motioned for him to stand by him, holding Robin's arm up so he could work the heated  blade into the gaping flesh.

“ _Put something in his mouth so he does not bite through his tongue_ ,” the physician ordered and Tomas stuffed a piece of leather hide in between Robin's teeth and tongue, making sure it was secure before the physician plunged the top half of the heated blade into the still bleeding wound.

The effect was immediate as Robin's eyes shot open and a muffled scream emerged from his mouth.  His muscles contracted and his whole body shook as the wound was immediately cauterized.  Carter winced as Robin involuntarily squeezed his hand tightly.

“ _Hold him, hold him_ ,” the physician muttered in French as he adjusted the blade a few times, the smell of burnt cauterized flesh wafting into the air.  He then took out the blade and pressed the clean end, near the hilt onto the wound itself and Carter watched in morbid fascination, momentarily forgetting the painful vise-like grip Robin had on his own hand, as the remnant blood bubbled and boiled, the edges of his skin curling into little black embers before the physician lifted the blade away from Robin's body and immediately his muscles relaxed.  Carter looked down at his friend just in time to see his eyes roll into the back of his head, falling limp once more.

He quickly put a hand to Robin's neck and found that he still had a pulse, though it was very thready and weak.  He knew his friend may have survived the cauterization procedure, but he was still in danger of dying if the physician's initial attempt did not seal all of the major blood vessels.  He had seen men whose wounds were cauterized in the same fashion, but had dropped dead a few days later because of internal bleeding that the initial cauterization did not seal up all of the major blood vessels.

“ _Keep him there, I need to sew up the wound_ ,” Jacques murmured quietly, procuring a sharp needle and black thread.  Meanwhile, Tomas had taken the leather out of Robin's mouth, and set it to the side.  The teeth marks were very visible on the leather, a testament to how much pain their mutual friend had endured in the last few minutes.

He absently wiped sweat off of his forehead as he and Tomas watched the physician slowly sew up the gaping wound, Tomas, having the better angle, reached out and occasionally mopped up the blood that was still oozing out of the wound, but not as much as before.  Carter did not know how long he stood there, but he was surprised to be handed a waterskin bag by none other than Much who had come in sometime while the physician was working and drank from the bag gratefully.

He handed it back to Much who then gave it to Tomas then to the physician, all the while silently staring at Robin's unmoving form, his breath shallow, lips and face completely pale.  Some more time passed and the passage of the sun through the morning into the midday and the late afternoon casted shadows upon the tent, but all of it was lost to Carter, Tomas, and the physician Jacques, as they worked to keep Robin alive.

It was late in the afternoon when Jacques finally stepped back from his work and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  Carter twitched a bit as he realized the physician was finished and gently set Robin's arm down, high across his chest and away from his newly sewn up wound, bandages now covering it.  Some blood still leaked through, but it was not as grave as when they had first found Robin on the ground, bleeding to death.

“ _It is done, milord.  I do not know if he will live through the night, but I have done all that I am able to_ ,” the physician said in a quiet voice.  For a second Carter thought he was addressing him, but looked up and saw that the King had entered and had been standing a bit away from them, but long enough to watch them for a while now.

“ _I am sorry Your Highness_ ,” he quickly bowed his head, apologizing, “ _I did not realize you had been waiting-_ ”

“ _No need for apologies, Captain_ ,” the King waved his comments away before nodding once to Jacques, “ _thank you for your efforts, Jacques_.”

“ _He will need to be moved to his tent, but the effort will have to be very delicate as his stitchings may rip..._ ”

“ _He can rest upon the other bed in here_ ,” the King said and Carter saw Tomas' eyes widen in surprise.  He too was a bit shocked to hear such words from his King, but realized that the King saw Robin as nothing less than a surrogate son.

“ _Yes milord_ ,” Jacques bowed his head slightly before gesturing to him, Tomas, and Much to help him move Robin to the spare bed in the King's tent.

After they had moved Robin and had made him comfortable, while still leaving him on his side, the King gestured for them to clean up and Carter did so with the utmost reluctance.  As soon as he stepped out side along with Tomas, Much having stubbornly refused to leave his ailing master's side, the second-in-command of the Private Guard situated himself outside the King's tent, standing at attention and resolute.

“I'm not moving,” Tomas gave him an even look and Carter understood the man's intentions.

“I will find food for us both,” he replied before heading towards his own tent to clean up and at least get some food into himself, having not eaten since he was woken up by the attack on the King.

About an hour later he returned, feeling a little more refreshed and handed Tomas his portion of the salted and dried pork along with some bread and cheese.  The two of them ate in silence and after Tomas was done he silently indicated that he was going to clean himself up before returning to his post.  Carter did not say anything and watched as he left, looking ten years older than his real age of his early forties.  Robin injured had to weigh heavily upon him, especially since it was Tomas who had recommended the young noble to lead the Private Guard, having turned down the prominent position, his reasoning being that he was getting old and would probably meet his end in less than a few years in the Holy Lands.

But Tomas had mentored Robin throughout his first year as they traveled to the Holy Lands, a guide and if Carter had to put a relationship between the young Captain and his second-in-command, it would be a grandfatherly one.  He supposed that with Robin incapacitated Tomas would be gathering the rest of the Private Guard together to discuss what would be happening in the near future and to bury the four others that had died before Robin had chased off the lone assassin.

From his own manservant Jordan, he had learned that the Private Guard and knights sent off to chase after the fleeing assassin had not caught him, losing him in one of the small villages on the outskirts between Acre and Arsuf.  The local population had been willing to let the men search their homes, but even then they had not found the assassin and had returned empty handed.

When Much had shouted that assassins were attacking the King, his thoughts had strayed immediately to Altaїr and his Masyaf-based assassins, but that thought had perished just as quickly when he realized that it made no sense for the Masyaf assassins to attack the King, much less kill him.  It had to be Saladin's personal assassins then.  Sent to harass the King even as they received reports that Saladin himself had disbanded at least half of his army and entrenched himself in winter quarters.

He knew that the King was close to launching a massive offensive to push towards Jerusalem once more, hoping to take advantage of the lack of troops to capture the city before the year was out and before winter befell them.  His own contacts told him that the time was ripe and Saladin was not expecting an attack.  He had only relayed the information to the King just days ago.

Perhaps Saladin did expect an attack which would be reason why he sent a small band of men to attack them yesterday, but even that was negligible...or it would serve as a nice distraction since everyone who fought would have celebrated the night before and be exhausted through the next morning.  His thoughts swirled darkly and on a slightly confusing path as he tried to figure out the reason behind the latest assassination attempt. 

He peeked into the tent and to his surprise saw the King, standing over Robin's prone form, holding one of his hands, just quietly talking.  For a moment, Carter thought his friend had died until he saw that Robin still breathed shallow breaths.  Much was nowhere nearby and he thought the King probably had sent him away on an errand of sorts.

In the barest of candlelight, the King struck an unusual image, and Carter was about to turn away once more to give him his privacy when the King's voice rose just slightly.

“ _...to the Grace of God and of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, may you find His healing grace.  I have failed you, my son, my ward, and have allowed harm to come upon your gentle soul._

“ _I had thought it to protect you by sending you away from me, away from this war, seeing a kindred soul in the unlikeliest of places, an assassin.  I sent to you my eyes and ears to make sure you were well, that you were not targeted, but alas, it is of my shortcomings and my own pride that I have led you into the very danger I have been trying to protect you from._ ”

The King placed Robin's hand back by his side, and bowed his head, “ _For that, I apologize and may God forgive this humble soul_.”

Carter suddenly spun on his heel, backing out of the tent as the King turned towards him at the same time and hoped that the King did not notice him in his private moment with Robin.  A few seconds later the King stepped out of his tent and looked at him, his sharp eyes giving no indication that he had seen him peeking in, but the frown on his face spoke otherwise.

He opened his mouth to apologize when the King held up his hand, silencing him.  “ _Send word to the Hashashin in Masyaf.  If Robin survives the night, he will need a place to recover before he returns to England_.”

“ _Milord_?” Carter was confused.

“ _The campaign will be won_ ,” the King's eyes were as hard as steel, “ _and those left behind will understand_.”

“ _Sire_ ,” he instinctively straightened as he understood the King's orders.  King Richard was even more hard pressed to capture Jerusalem now, and though was reluctant to leave behind his favorite soldier and guard; he was also allowing Robin the freedom to finally return home, considering him having won his glory and honor by fighting at his side.  Carter also understood that it was the King's intention of ultimately protecting Robin by sending him away from the bloody battlefield, back to the peaceful lands of England where he would be able to fully recover and await their return.

He also knew that if Robin survived and got better from his injury, he would not be too happy with his King's decision, but then again, he would also not protest it.  But the King also understood that should his Captain of the Private Guard survive, he needed a safe haven for the time being to recover until he was strong enough to make the journey.  Based on what Carter had been telling him, Acre was no safe haven and ironically, the only place that could even be considered a safe haven was with the fabled assassins of Masyaf.  The place that Carter did not want to see again.

When he had left to report to the King of the mission's success after their rescue of Robin from the bowels of the Hospitalier Fortress, he had heard from his contacts that  Altaїr had not immediately return to Masyaf as he had thought the assassin would do so and instead had stayed within Acre until Robin had woken up.  His first thought was that the master assassin stayed because of Maria, but even his contacts had said that Maria had disappeared somewhere soon after their mission was completed and could not be found.  It was then that he realized that though the assassin could have left, he stayed to make sure that Robin had recovered properly – something he could not wrap his mind around.  Perhaps he had been wrong about the assassin, but such thoughts were so alien and foreign to him.

He would never forgive the Masyaf assassins for what they had done to his men, but had come to accept that Robin and perhaps even the King saw them in a slightly different light than he did.

Now it seemed that God had decided for him to be the bearer of the ironic news, for him to ask the assassins to take Robin as he recovered while the King pressed on to Jerusalem.  Bowing his head to his King, he inclined his head once, “ _As you wish sire, it shall be done immediately_.”

                                    *                      *                      *

Days later, three white-robed scholars, not assassins, but real scholars arrived at the King's camp just as the men were preparing to head further south in their push to Jerusalem and took Robin and his manservant Much away from the camp, headed northwestwards towards Masyaf.  It was a quiet affair, only overseen by Carter and Tomas who had formally taken command of the Private Guard in a short ceremony just a day before the scholars' arrival.  Some of the other members of the Private Guard had come to see their former Captain, still unconscious, off, but many of them understood the urgency of pressing on to Jerusalem.

However, as the cart and horse bearing Robin headed away from camp, some would say that the King stood upon the highest point of his own camp, watching like a solitary figure until the white robes, horses, and cart could not be seen in the watery-mirage of the desert.

The Crusade to capture Jerusalem continued.

                                    *                      *                      *

There were no loudly chirping birds this time to awaken Robin suddenly from his sleep, but instead, he felt himself slowly awaken and opened his eyes to once again, unfamiliar surroundings.  However, he did not feel the startled panic he thought he would feel upon wakening to such circumstances, but instead a sense of peace and tranquility.  He blinked his eyes a few times and looked around as best as he could without moving.  Wide arched ceilings with beautiful stone-worked carvings surrounded him and he had a sense that he knew this place, even though it seemed unfamiliar.  A mild, but not terribly cold breeze blew in from the windows, and Robin shivered, pulling up the blankets that had been covering him before he paused as his left arm raked across what felt like rough stitching near his armpit.

He sat up gingerly, but found that his head wasn't dizzied or nor did he feel particularly tired.  In fact, he felt completely refreshed and energized something that puzzled him.  He was wearing a loose linen shirt and lifted the left side of the shirt to see that the wound he knew he had received from the assassin who was attacking the King was stitched up in a professional fashion.  That meant...he had survived even though he swore that he felt like he was dying at that time from so much blood lost.

Touching the stitching gently, he found to his surprise that it did not hurt one bit and tentatively lifted his arm.  The movement and stretching of his muscles and skin in that area also did not hurt.  He mentally shrugged before looking around the room he was in and a smile slowly worked its way up his face.  It was not as impressive as the room he had first stayed in during his first night in Masyaf, but he recognized the stonework, shelves of books, and furniture design anywhere.

However the smile slowly disappeared as he wondered if he was here in Masyaf, then where was the King?  His eyes spotted a small envelope sitting on the end table next to his bed, along with a pitcher and cup of water and a plate full of something he did not quite recognize, but smelled of spices.  Reaching over, he picked up the envelope and saw that it was a folded parchment, sealed with the King's own circular seal.

He briefly remembered the campaign that where his King's first square ring had broken during fierce combat and he had it remade with a circular seal.  The seal was not broken, which meant no one else read what was in the letter.

It was addressed to him and he tentatively opened it, taking care not to break the seal in half.  He recognized the King's loopy script and scanned its contents:

 

_I, King Richard of England and the Norman Lands, Count of Anjou, Duke of Normandy, Count of Maine, and Duke of Aquitaine hereby release Captain Robin of Locksley, Lord of the Locksley and Bonchurch lands, Knight of the English realm from his duties to the Crown and Church of participation in this Holy Crusade with full honors and titles bestowed upon his persons for bravery, heroism, and honor fought by his King's side._

_His lands shall be reinstated upon his return to English soil and therefore act in my stead until such return._

 

There was another seal of the King followed by his signature and Robin was about to fold up the letter once more when he noticed a smaller piece of parchment near the bottom of the original one.  Frowning, he took that small one out and found that it was a more personal letter addressed solely to him.

 

_May God look favorably upon your safe return to your homeland, Robin.  Your service to your King has done more for this holy war we have been fighting and for your King than you can ever imagine.  I send you now, to return to what you have so long lived for; I send you back to her._

 

Robin saw a splotch on the parchment before he realized that it was his own tear that had fallen upon the smaller piece of parchment.  He quickly wiped away the tears of either joy or sadness he couldn't tell by the torrent of emotions within him as he re-read what his King had personally written to him.  Never had he felt such fealty and devotion from his liege and lord before and had not realized how much the King valued him and his contribution to the Crusade.

He had rarely spoken of Marian to the King, and did not realize that his King had actually remembered her.  For his last words that the King was sending him back to Marian, it touched him greatly to know that his King understood why he had joined the Crusade and swore to protect him.

Folding the parchment back up gingerly once more, he set it back on the table, and took a deep breath.  He finally understood his King's intentions...and a sense of sadness filled him.  His King had considered him like a son, something he had not realized in all of his years serving him.  That sending him on his investigation of Robert de Sable's treachery was a mission of vital importance, something he needed to verify, even though Carter was providing him with information.  He realized that it was also a way for his King to protect him, or at least he thought it was.  When they made the alliance with the Hashashin, once again, his King thought to protect him by leaving him with Altaїr and the other Hashashin, expecting that their fierce reputation would allow no harm to come to him.

But his King had realized that he had grossly overestimated the seriousness of the Templar threat and the hidden war that had erupted between the two factions since the death of de Sable.  So he had returned to the King's camp to continue his duties and it ended with the attack upon the King himself by assassins who, in Robin's opinion, were probably sent by Salah al-Din.

Another curious thought occurred to him.  In all of this...his mysterious assassin friend, Altaїr, had seemingly also tried to keep him away from harm, to protect him if his thoughts were correct.  He frowned mostly to himself, lost in thought.  It was a curious thought, but one he would never voice to the assassin or to his King.  If it was the truth, he knew that neither of them would confirm it due to their pride, and if it was the truth, speaking it out loud would make him seem pompous and ungrateful.

Shaking his head, clearing all previous thoughts away, Robin gingerly got out of bed, and to his pleasant surprise, was able to stand with little to no problem at all.  He had heard of the wonders of medicine in the Holy Lands and it seemed that the rumors had some truth to them.  His wound did not hurt as much and he knew from that sheer amount of blood loss, he would have had dizziness and lack of energy to stand, much less sit up and read anything.

Looking around the room once more, he spotted a small bowl filled with water along with a clean linen towel and some of the clothes he had originally worn before the Crusader emblem and the King's emblem became his daily wear in the Holy Lands.  That had to be Much's work he supposed as he found his pack sitting next to his clothes along with the familiar Saracen curved bow and his pack of arrows and longsword.  Taking the letter of discharge written by the King from the table, he walked over to the pack and placed it carefully in, making sure that it was secure, yet easily accessible should anyone ask why he was not serving the King in the Holy Lands.

He quickly cleaned up and changed into the fresher clothes, feeling a lot more comfortable.  Glancing over to his bow and arrows, he decided against strapping them on, knowing that he was safe in Masyaf.  However, he still carried the small knife in his boot; experience long told him never to go anywhere unarmed, no matter what.  Heading out of his room, he found himself in a slightly unfamiliar corridor, having not been in this area of the keep in both of his brief stays at the fortress.

His confusion was saved as he saw an assassin apprentice approach, carrying what seemed to be clean sheets of linen and other assortment of things.  “ _Excuse me, can you direct me to Altaїr_?” he asked the apprentice gently in Arabic, so as not to startle him.

The apprentice looked at him with wide eyes before nodding and pointing down the direction he had come from, “ _Master Altaїr is currently in the great hall, though he has asked no one to disturb him_.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Robin had no intention of following the assassin's request, but nonetheless smiled slightly at the apprentice, “ _then do you know where my manservant, Much, is?  He is of pale skin and-_ ”

“ _Oh, the one whom the children always chase around and pepper with food, him_ ,” the apprentice smiled, “ _he is out in the village square the last time I saw him, about a few hours ago.  I do not know what game he was teaching the children, but it required them to freeze into place when touched_.”

Robin had to laugh a little at the image of Much trying to teach the children the game of freeze tag.  It was something he and the others in Locksley used to play when they were just children.  He was one of the best at evading anyone's touch along with one of the young village boys, Will Scarlett, he believed.  The two of them had gotten so good one day that it had ended in a slight rough and tumble mock fight between the two of them with the rest of the children cheering on.

“ _Thank you again_ ,” Robin said before heading down the stairs that the apprentice had come up to, intent on first finding Altaїr before Much.

He soon arrived at the great hall, this time from a different direction and looked up at the grand majesty of the giant keep before spotting the familiar white-robed figure of Altaїr sitting by a desk surrounded by bookcases.  An odd light was shining upon his face and from his angle; he could not quite tell what was making that light.  It certainly did not flicker like candlelight, and the daylight sun that was streaming into the windows and wide-open area was too bright for a candle to be lit.

Shrugging mostly to himself, he passed the silent sentries on duty and approached   the master assassin.  It was only when he got closer, he realized that the eerie light was emanating from a small spherical object sitting on the table and that the light looked familiar.  His widened with horror as he realized that his friend was staring at a Piece of Eden...  A sense of urgency filled Robin as he moved forward, to bat the Piece away, not to let Altaїr of all people become corrupted as he did by the Piece and kill innocents or even anyone else for that matter.

“It is perfectly safe, Robin of Locksley,” the master assassin suddenly spoke up, his voice calm and quiet and Robin halted mid-stride.

He opened his mouth to protest when he stared again at his friend and saw that indeed, it did not look like he was possessed by any psychopathic tendencies.  Instead,  Altaїr was sitting by the Piece, occasionally glancing at it, but mostly writing something on pieces of what looked like heavy paper, a small stack of them already by his side.

“The fabled Apple of  Eden, or so the Templars seem to call it,” Altaїr did not look up at him, continuing writing his notes and Robin stepped a bit closer, still wary of the eerie light emanating from the spherical Piece, but nonetheless curious.

“But I thought...”

“It is not easy to control, but with a strong will, one is able to manage it,” as Robin drew closer, he was able to see that while Altaїr was remaining calm and collected in all outward appearances, he did see small beads of sweat and the slight tightness of his jaw muscles as he continued to write down his notes.  Robin knew that his friend was lying through his teeth, but did not call him out on it.  A few minutes later, Altaїr reached up and gently touched the Piece and the light suddenly died.  He pretended to ignore the slight breath of relief from his friend and instead, looked at the spherical object closely.

It was beautifully designed and carved he had to admit.  It was a piece of artwork with a metallic sheen to it that looked completely foreign, ancient, yet so futuristic at the same time.  He dared not touch it, having learned from his own experience with the partial Piece of Eden.  If this was a whole Piece, then he did not know how it would react to him.

Sliding his gaze to the pieces of paper, he picked up one from the small pile and saw that it was a sketch of sorts and realized it was a sketch of the hidden assassin blade that Altaїr and the other assassins wore except it looked a little different.  “Did you get this from...that?” he indicated the paper and the Piece as his friend started to gather up his papers and inkwell.

“Yes,” Altaїr replied, “it shows things...the past, present, even what seems like future events.”

“That is dangerous,” Robin did not know what his friend was talking about but all he knew that something like the Piece of Eden should not be taken so lightly.

A soft chuckle of laughter issued from Altaїr, surprising Robin as he finished gathering all of his papers and took the one that Robin held in his hands before gingerly picking up the Piece of Eden and placed it in a small satchel.  “Malik says the same thing every other day,” the assassin headed away from the table in the corner of the hall and towards another opened spaced area where shelves of books were placed along with a few pigeon coops.

Robin frowned, scratching the back of his head, “I hate to agree with him, but he may be correct.  You said so yourself, that only a strong will and mind can control it...  What happens if one day-”

“It is necessary,” Altaїr interrupted him in a sudden burst of irritation, his voice steely cold, eyes flashing a warning at him as he set the papers amongst some books before placing the satchel inside an ornate box on the shelf and locked it.

Robin could tell that if he said anymore about the Piece and its corrupting influence, it would only serve to increase the anger and annoyance the assassin probably felt after so many constant warnings from Malik.  Instead, he shook his head, “Fine, I warned you.”

Stony silence greeted him back before Altaїr adjusted something and turned to him, “I apologize, Robin, it is something that has been a somewhat contentious issue amongst the other Hashashin.  I appreciate the warning, however, I also believed it to be necessary, especially with the recent viewings that led us to discover a more efficient way of treating battlefield wounds and even use explosives to our advantage.”

“Explosives?  You mean black powder?” he asked, curious.  He had heard of the fabled ingredient used by the Turkish armies in the north and heard rumors that it was supposedly created by the mystics in the Orient.

“After a fashion,” was all the master assassin said, “The point is that with careful viewing, the Piece of Eden is a resource that can be utilized in the war against the Templars.”

A part of Robin wanted to ask if the Templars were really truly still a greater threat than before, after the death of Armand Bouchart, and the slaughter at the Hospitalier fortress, but hearing the seriousness in Altaїr’s voice told him that the Hashashin still believed it to be so.  It was also then that he realized that this war between the two factions, unlike King Richard’s Crusade, was probably to continue even after he had passed from the mortal world.

And it seemed that Altaїr understood the implications too, hence his reasoning for studying the Piece of Eden and taking notes on what he had seen in it.  He was preparing for the future generations, to try to give his children and the children of the other Hashashin a chance against the Templars.  When he had shown him the pebble-sized Piece of Eden back in Acre, he had said it was only a partial Piece, possibly connected to a staff that was the full Piece of Eden.

That meant that there was more than one, and the grave inference that the staff was more than likely in Templar hands was assured.  “Did you discover what they were doing with the Pieces of Eden?” he asked, curious.

“No,” the assassin replied, “but judging by the prisoners at the fortress and the fact that they had only a partial Piece of Eden, they were perhaps testing the limits of what could be used to influence someone.  To make them see what they want to them to see.”

Robin could see that Altaїr was being careful with his words, and while he appreciated the fact that his friend refrained from outright saying what had happened in the bowels of the fortress, the facts were still the facts.  He had killed and murdered innocents while under the Piece’s influence and had _enjoyed_ it.  It made him highly uncomfortable, but it was something he did not want to confront at the moment.

“So there may be a staff out there that is a Piece of Eden?” he turned the conversation back to the Piece itself.

“Yes,” Altaїr nodded, “but it should be of no concern for you.”

“What…” Robin did not get to finish his question when his friend gave him the ghost of a smile.

“You have been given leave to return to your homeland, have you not?” his friend asked.

“Yes, but-“

“Then the wars and battles fought here are no longer your concern,” was the simple reply.

Robin was about to reply when a messenger hurried up the stairs and said something in rapid Arabic that he did not quite catch.  However, he saw the narrowing of Altaїr’s eyes before he nodded once and waved a hand to dismiss the messenger who scurried away quickly.  “We will have to continue this another time,” the dismissal was evident and Robin shook his head.

“We will,” he made sure that his friend heard the finality in his voice.  Even though it seemed like Altaїr was rejecting his offer to help the Hashashin in their mission to stop the Templars, he still did not believe that they would so easily let him off the hook, so to speak.  He wanted to help, was even willing to offer his skills and services, but instead, his friend had essentially told him to go home.

Shaking his head and leaving Altaїr to his newest business, he headed down the stairs and out of the main keep and towards the village below.  As he walked, he realized that for essentially thinking that he was going to die from such a wound, he was surprisingly stronger.  He knew from experience that stitchings were supposed to hurt after a while or at least he was supposed to feel some kind of pain, but he was feeling pretty well.

He recalled the conversation he just had with his friend and realized that Altaїr had looked into the Apple of Eden for any way to help him heal and survive.  That thought in particular stopped him in his tracks; nearly making a few jar carriers crash into his back and more than one indignant remark in Arabic was thrown at him as the villagers passed by him.

The letter his King had written to him included in his writ of discharge explained everything.  In fact, it explained a lot of things.  His King had sent him to investigate Robert de Sable because not only did his King trusted him, but also wanted to protect him.  That much he gathered from the conversation he had with his King when Carter was revealed to be the King’s personal spy.  Then it was surely not an accident when the King sent Carter with him.  King Richard had ordered Carter to protect him at what he suspected was probably any and all cost.

Then there was his King, asking him to stay behind and serve with the Hashashin.  He had thought it was because he had been the one to investigate the deaths of those that Altaїr killed, but in hindsight, it seemed that his King was once again, trying to protect him.  Except his King did not know the full extent of the war that was being fought between the Hashashin and the Templars.

Either way, Altaїr had done the same as his King and Carter did, try to protect him as much as possible by limiting what he could do during the investigation in Damascus.  But his assassin friend did not anticipate the treachery and depth of betrayal the Templars had planted amongst the Hashashin, or the fact that they had been watching them ever since the initial investigation.  And that had resulted in his capture and torture by the hands of the enemy.

He wondered if the Templars had thought that by capturing him, they thought that they would try to get to the master assassin.  An absurd thought, one that was hardly even worth thinking about.  He had long learned in the Holy Lands, it was to watch out for ones’ self and no one else.  No, the Templars had been targeting them both and it was through his own stupidity and inept planning that he had fallen into their trap.

Still, he appreciated the rescue mounted by his friends and the sacrifices they had made just to free him from the corrupt Piece of Eden.  But now, he realized that his King and even Altaїr to some extent, was trying to protect him once more by sending him home; to let an old soldier like him rest.  He did not know what he had done to deserve such friendship and devotion, but he realized that it was he, who was ultimately selfish should he squander what was given to him.

With a much lighter heart and more pleasant thoughts in his mind, he started off again to find Much.  He would rest and recover in Masyaf until he was stronger, then he would do as his King had bidden him and return home.

                                    *                      *                      *

By Robin’s reckoning it was just a few days after the New Year, 1192, when he felt like he was strong enough to make the journey back to England.  Through the weeks he had stayed in Masyaf, there were days when he had felt his wound throb in pain, but it was temporary as the healers and physicians of the Hashashin had quickly remedied his discomfort with potions and liquid concoctions of sorts.  His stichings had come off a week after his initial conversation with Altaїr and though the wound had fully healed, there was still an ugly pocketmarked scar, something the healer attending to him had said was due to the initial treatment he had received back in the King’s camp before those stitchings were taken out and his wound re-treated and stitched up once more by them.

In the weeks following, he had spent some of his time in the keep’s libraries, or even talking with some of the other Hashashin.  But more often than not, he had found himself in the combat ring, testing out his skill with the other trainees who were all the more eager to train with him.  They had taught him a few new tricks with their curved blades and he in turn had taught them to fight with the longsword.

To Robin’s surprise, Altaїr himself had occasionally entered the ring and sparred with him.  In those times, it seemed that the trainees and crowd around the combat ring had grown larger, but Robin did not care, too focused on the sparring session with his friend than anything else.  To his chagrin, each time he and Altaїr had fought, it was always the assassin who won.  But then again, Robin understood that he had grown up to kill and to fight with his sword.

So in the latter weeks of his stay in Masyaf, he had counter-challenged Altaїr to shoot targets with bows and arrows and had won those contests with the barest of ease.  On the occasion he was not sparring in the combat ring or in the libraries, he was with Much in the village, the village children having taken a shine to his manservant, always asking him in their broken English to come play with them.

It seemed that this time, in his and Much’s stay with the Hashashin, everyone embraced them as their own so the night before Robin felt ready to leave, he found his friend, once again in a desk in the corner of the central room of the keep, studying the Piece of Eden.

But this time, instead of reprimanding him, Robin just watched, staring curiously at the light that emanated from the Apple, wondering what his friend saw in it.  A few seconds later, he thought he saw the ghostly image of a horse running across the light and rubbed his eyes before staring at it again.  No…this time he was sure it was the ghostly image of a horse…a rider on top of it, curved Saracen sword waving in a battle cry.  He did not recognize who the rider was…but somehow, the rider looked oddly familiar.

Just then, Altaїr placed his hand on top of the Apple, and the light disappeared.  Robin blinked, pulling himself out of his reverie and saw his friend look up at him, his eyes curious.  Even at night, his friend still wore his ever present assassin’s hood, hiding his eyes and a majority of his face.  But he knew that if their paths ever crossed again, and Altaїr had his hood off, then Robin would instantly recognize his friend anywhere.

“You have come to say your farewells?” how his friend knew Robin would never figure it out, but nodded all the same.

“Yes,” he replied, “Much and I will leave for Acre tomorrow and take a ship to Sicily.  From there, make my way across land to my King’s French territories and to England.”

“I will send word to the bureau to secure a ship for your passage to Sicily,” Altaїr replied getting up and gathering his notes once more.

“Thank you,” Robin was grateful for the securing of a safe passage to Scily, especially since he did not know if Acre was still under Templar control.  “And thank you, for everything.”

“Not everything yet, friend,” he watched as the assassin placed the Piece and notes back where they belonged before gesturing for him to follow him.  Curious and wondering what the assassin was now up to, he followed him outside, the only light the two of them had was the torch lights flickering this way and that.  Altaїr led him down the stone steps and to the combat ring of all places.

“One more for the record?” Robin asked he saw him pick up two swords, and tossed him a curved Saracen blade, taking the other slightly curved, but long one for himself.  He caught the hilt neatly with one hand and flourished it once, stepping into the ring as Altaїr took the other side.

Not surprisingly the master assassin did not reply and instead, saluted him with the flat of his blade to his face before suddenly charging at him.  In the inky darkness, and flickering torch light, it was hard to see the where he came from, but Robin had too much experience fighting in darkness to let it bother him and watched for the glint of Altaїr’s blade and the brightness of his white robes.

He smiled tightly and parried the first blow before lashing out with his own, swiping across where he thought the assassin’s head would be.  His arc clanged violently against Altaїr’s parry before he swirled his sword around in a circle and broke it.  Kicking out with his right leg, he felt part of his heel catch against the white cloth and knew that he had almost caught the assassin.

He brought his sword up once more in another clanging parry, before pushing ahead.  Scuffling his feet, he lunged, feeling the wind brush past the top of his hair and knew he had ducked a sideways swipe that was meant to take his head off.  Suddenly he found himself eating the dirt as a hand pushed him to the ground, flinging him off balance from his lunge.

He rolled to his right and sprang up on his heels once more, eyes narrowed and searching out for – there!  Swinging several times, he found each of his swipes was missing just by a hair before managing to clash swords once more with Altaїr in a stalemate.  The assassin broke the stalemate and shoved his elbow into Robin’s face, determined to strike him quickly across his cheek, but he was ready for such a move and brought his free arm up, locking his wrist against Altaїr’s elbow, trapping him.

“Too familiar,” he barked out, laughing, slightly out of breath, but nonetheless saw a full grin on his friend’s face, just as his world suddenly upended and Robin saw stars appear in front of his eyes as his head impacted the sandy ground.

He immediately rolled to his right and pushed himself up as Altaїr stabbed downwards and held his sword aloft, twirling it once in his right hand, his left hovering close to the hilt, but far enough to keep his balance.  His breath came in quick gasps, but he forced himself to calm his breathing down, to focus on the assassin in front of him.  His friend suddenly lashed out in a wide arc with both hands, stepping towards him and Robin brought his sword up in an upwards parry, when he suddenly realized he had left himself open to a second attack through his middle as Altaїr’s left arm had not been holding his sword.  He had only attacked with one hand!

Robin gritted his teeth, awaiting the inevitable blow when just as suddenly his friend stepped back and sheathed his sword, leaving him confused.  He lowered his sword and stared dumbly at him.  “You knew I was completely open…why did you not finish it?”

“Because, I wanted to test you,” his friend replied before suddenly tossing him something.

In the flickering torch light, it was hard to see, but nonetheless, Robin caught it and examined it as best as he could.  He instantly recognized the texture and feel of the object and knew it was pebble-sized.  Looking up at the master assassin he held out the object.  “This is…it is…” he stuttered, “I cannot have this!”

“It is the partial Piece of Eden which you had used in Acre,” Altaїr stated bluntly, “the same one you now hold in your hand.”

“But…” Robin felt repulsed to be holding such a thing.

“I wanted to test you, to make sure you were ready,” his friend said cryptically.

“Test me for what purpose?”

“The Templars know that the Hashashin already possess the Apple of Eden.  They may already know that we also possess part of another Piece of Eden.  We would like you to take this particular Piece as far away from this battlefield, to protect it and to guard it with your life.  You had proven yourself just now that you are no longer corrupted by the Piece nor does it hold sway over you,” his friend replied before gesturing to his curved Saracen blade, “do you not recognize this blade you hold?”

Robin lifted the blade slightly in his hand, seeing its white handle, brown stylized pommel.  Its shape was broad and wide and he realized where he had seen the sword before.  He had used it upon the innocents and prisoners of the Templars after slaughtering the guard who owned it.  It was the same blade, combined with the Piece of Eden he now held that had killed so many in Acre.

“…Yes…” he whispered, a wave of sorrow filling him.  It was then he also realized that this was what he wanted to do.  To remember; like the Saracen bow he owned, it was a reminder of how close he had come to losing his King through an arrow shot by an assassin.  His scar was a reminder of how close he had come to dying for his King.  This sword and this Piece of Eden were reminders of how close he had come to losing his soul to the devil.  It was also a reminder of how much it had taken his friends to bring him back to his senses.  These objects and so much more, including the lessons he had learned in his time serving with the King, they were not to be forgotten, but remembered.

A hesitant smile appeared on his lips as he hefted the sword and the Piece and looked at his friend, “Are you sure?”

Altaїr nodded once, “I believe you will guard the Piece before it would fall into the wrong hands.”

Robin held up the small pebble-sized Piece of Eden, “I will not use it.”

“That I do believe,” his friend replied, “which is why it is safer in your hands than in my own.”

That startling admission made Robin blink in surprise before he nodded, understanding that the normally recalcitrant and reserved assassin would rarely admit anything, even to his friends.  Closing his fingers around the Piece, he sheathed his sword and bowed slightly to the master assassin.

“Thank you, Altaїr Ibn la-Ahad, for all that you have done for me.  _Salaam_ , my friend.”

“Safety and peace be with you, Robin of Locksley.”

And so the next morning, Robin and Much set out for Acre, bidding Masyaf and the Holy Lands farewell, never to see the sandy deserts or beautiful oasis of the land for the rest of their lives.  Roughly three months later, around March of 1192, they arrived at the outskirts of Nottinghamshire…

Three days after their arrival at the outskirts, Robin was branded an outlaw.

And so, the legend of Robin Hood had begun.

 

~END~

 

**Historical Notes:**

-         Richard the Lionhearted made a desperate push to Jerusalem around late 1191, having heard that Saladin had disbanded half of his army and had retired to winter quarters.  Saladin, having found out Richard’s plans tried to stop him by sending some men, but they were killed.  He only made it 12 miles near the city before having to withdraw for the winter.

-         Around the same time, Conrad of Montferrat was becoming an annoyance to Richard and sometime early 1192 (though it is not proven) two of the fabled Hashashin went to assassinate Conrad.  The two assassins were quickly captured, one was executed immediately while the other confessed to the deed, but not to whom hired them.

-         King Richard was known for his generosity and kindheartedness to his soldiers, though he did not quite care for the peasantry (especially since he didn’t even bother to learn that much English being the English king and all).  He was also childless when he died, so I took the slightly creative liberty of having him see Robin as a son of sorts…

 

**TV Show Notes:**

-         As depicted in the episode “Tattoo, What Tattoo?” Robin is mortally wounded in his attempt to save the King from “assassins” whom in reality we find out later in the episode, was Guy of Gisborne and people he worked with for Prince John to kill his brother.  It seems logical that this be set before Richard made his push towards Jerusalem and thus had an excuse to leave Robin behind.

 

**_Assassin’s Creed_ Notes:**

-         From the events of _AC2_ , we already know that Altaїr has been taking peeks and glimpses into the Piece of Eden for hints.  I depicted that with the rescue of using explosives, his inferring of advance medicines to heal Robin of his mortal wound, and the start of his codex.  I believe that Altaїr first probably wrote his codex with regular script before slowly coding them so only his fellow Assassins knew about it.

-         The one that Robin was looking at is in fact one of the first codex pages Ezio Auditore, the hero of _AC2_ finds and gives to his friend Leonardo Da Vinci to decipher.  I also inferred the mention of the papal staff as a Piece of Eden from AC2.

 

**Author’s Final Notes:**

            Basically, this story came out of the inspiration and positive reviews of _Silence_.  Plus, I had wanted to write a backstory between Altaїr and Robin when I started planning _The Assassin’s Gift_.  The result was this story you have now just finished.  However, Robin and Altaїr’s adventures are not quite done yet as there is one more set of stories concluding the friendship between the two.  _The King Richard Trilogy_ is being planned and written as of this posting, and can be found in the _Robin Hood_ section of the website instead of crossovers.

            For my loyal readers and reviewers, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your comments and appreciation for this massive story that I’ve written.  Please, if you have not left a review yet, please let me know how you feel and feel free to ask any questions you want of this story or any other stories that I’ve written.  Thank you and I will see all of you in my next offering of _Robin Hood_!

 

-Shadow Chaser, 5/10/10.


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